An Obsession With Words: Wiress Ohmstead's Story
by DonnaNobleoftheTARDIS
Summary: Fifteen-year-old Wiress Ohmstead has no chance at winning the 44th Annual Hunger Games. A sheltered loner from the outskirts of District 3, her favorite pastime was always reading, and suddenly she is expected to entertain and fight for her life. She may have never held a sword, but Wiress' strength lies in her wits …and even her fondness for books and words could spare her life…
1. Chapter I: Reaped

The morning I was reaped, it was hot and hazy. I woke with a quick start, my head jerking up from where I had fallen asleep over an old textbook of my father's (basic anatomy). A small puddle of drool smeared a diagram of the peripheral nervous system.

The clock on the wall by the desk where I'd passed out ticked slowly, displaying the time (6:55AM). It was my favorite clock, with a wooden-carved mouse at the top, hoarding a hunk of cheese and looking out gleefully. I stared at it for almost a full minute, mesmerized (as I often was even at my age) by the comforting patterns. It did it's best to bring me to a fuller consciousness as I came to.

I twisted in my desk chair to peer out the window. The haze already coated the city skyline (almost wholly visible from my high-rise tenement window), and it made everything look sick and yellow. When I had dozed off last night, it had been raining heavily, and the humidity added to the already thick atmosphere.

It would be a long, miserable day downtown. And not just because the Reaping Ceremony was today.

My parents were probably already awake and in the main room having coffee and toast. My father got up pretty early on normal days to beat the rush-hour crush downtown. He was one of the few daddies I knew of who wasn't an engineer, inventor, or a salesman of new prototypes. He was a dentist. A boring dentist, one of those jobs I was sure all of the districts had. My mother stayed at home and sometimes hired herself out as a repairwoman. On this day, though, it wasn't the ride to work that had them up. Reaping Day had all of the parents of Panem up before daybreak.

It would be my older brother's last year in the Reaping pool. Edison had evaded being chosen. I wasn't surprised, as he never needed to sign up for tesserae, and therefore was one name in a bin of hundreds of names. I had my name in only once each year as well. So this year, Edison had nine slips of paper and I had four. Our odds were both good. Being a middle-class family, we never starved (though we rarely ate luxuriously) and had to increase our chances for being chosen for death.

I was fifteen, but as I got myself ready for the long day ahead, I could help but feel like I was a fifty-year old. My neck was stiff from the way I'd slept at my study desk. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with the textbook, even if just to finish the chapter I'd started. I hated quitting a book in the middle of a section! I guess I overcompensated for how I felt by tying my limp hair into two low-hanging pigtails and slipped into a spearmint-green dress. The skirt hem didn't hit my knees. It was too small. Or my legs were too long.

I didn't normally care very much about what I looked like. I didn't have any friends. At school, I sat by myself during the lunch hour and walked home with my protective brother. I didn't care very much about being attractive or pleasing to boys. I was the daughter of Dr. Ohmstead, a plain-looking man, and Alma Ohmstead, his equally-plain wife. My older brother, Edison, looked just like Daddy, and I looked like a pretty even mix of Mommy and Daddy's genetic makeup. Plain, plain, and plain. I never looked like any of those girls in the Hunger Games, the dolled-up young ladies who got the 'Capitol Treatment' before being shipped off to the death yards and arenas. My long, plain face, ashy skin, and lifeless brown hair, by contrast, were inconsequential.

I liked that.

Getting ready didn't take but fifteen minutes. We would leave for the inner city to sign in for the Reaping by nine, so I went back to my textbook until I had to be by the front door.

Books were really my whole life. Living in a refurbished tenement building just inside the border of District 3's central city, there wasn't much to do or see. I didn't get together with the other daughters in the building. Most families around this area were the non-district-specialist families, those of us who weren't inventors and technological geniuses. But that isn't to say my family wasn't intelligent. Daddy was the best dentist in the district for a reason, combining both a gentle touch and a quick mind, he had a reputation as being instinctual for his lot in life. Mommy, on the other hand, was where I got my need to read and to take in facts and information. Edison was like Daddy…that is to say, instinctual.

My best memories came from those summer days as a littler girl, when Mommy was on a job and Edison and I had to go to work with Daddy. Edison loved watching Daddy work on patients. I didn't. The amount of discomfort those people felt, even with Daddy's gentle hand, was enough to make me feel nauseated. So I'd retreat to the empty exam room, heist a tech manual off the wall, and curl up in the dental chair to read for hours straight. No matter the subject, I devoured it. Sometimes I'd complete an entire textbook, start to finish, in one day.

Now, I sat at my desk reading one of those same textbooks. Sometimes if I'm reading a certain passage, I can tune out and feel the comfortable cushion of the old dental chair beneath my legs, and hear the hum of Daddy's radio from the next room, effectively masking the less-pleasant sounds of the drills and whirring brushes.

Before I knew it, Daddy was knocking on my door frame and looking in at me.

"Wiress, it's time."

I looked up. For as plain as he was, Daddy's kind smile flattered him, and it could make me feel safe even in the scariest places. His eyes were soft, kind, and worried. I felt like he was looking at me as if for the last time. I smiled and closed the tome I was devoted to and went to him.

"Daddy," I said softly (my voice always being rather quiet and airy). "We'll be home for a late dinner."

"I hope so," he smiled weakly. I took my meek disposition from Daddy, and when he was worried, he was at his most moody. He gave me a once-over and sighed woefully.

"I thought we bought you a new dress for today—" he reached out to tug gently at the high-necked lace collar of my dress, further emphasizing the juvenile style of it.

I shook my head. "Next year, when I'm sixteen. That's what Mommy said."

Daddy clicked his tongue in disapproval. "That dress is too short and childish. You're a woman this year," he replied. I shrugged. Perhaps physically I was newly a woman, though mentally I still felt simultaneously pre-pubescent and elderly. In the year since the Reaping Ceremony of last summer, I had shot up in height, sprouted hips and breasts, and menstruated for the first time. All in less than a year (unusual, according to the anatomy books I'd read over the years). In District 3, most of this isn't talked about in anything other than purely anatomical and technical terms, but Daddy in particular seemed to take my venture through puberty as an emotional trigger.

"Next year," I repeated. Daddy smiled.

"Your mother and brother are already downstairs. Let's go."

Off we went to the Inner City. I was never one to understand or empathize with the emotions of others, but I understood why Daddy treated me with extra care that day.

I, like every other teenager in Panem, was marching toward potential execution.

* * *

><p>The Inner City of District 3 didn't have a single shred of nature to be seen. All metal and mortar. It was full of factories, businesses, and artificial life. The air was always heavy with smog and smoke. The sounds were loud and shrill. My senses were overloaded every time we made our way in. I was only glad my school wasn't in the Inner City. I was fortunate to not have to experience this mass of sensory overload daily.<p>

I covered my ears as my family and I made our way past the other citizen of District 3, the ones without children in the Reaping. Very young children gaped at us in the arms of their solemn mothers. Older teens who had survived their last Reaping Ceremony the previous year were the only ones looking genuinely at ease. I, for one, couldn't wait to pass Reaping age. Upon turning nineteen, I could begin training to become a researcher or an archivist. I know Edison wanted to apply to study abroad as an indentured student of the Capitol. He wanted to study defensive technology in District 2, for which he would need to pass a rigorous test and get an inter-district passport.

It was closing in on noon when we finally made it through the queues and signed in. Edison didn't show any display of emotion or lack of confidence as he bid Daddy and Mommy goodbye. He put his hand on my shoulder as we made our way to the floor of the stadium where the Reapings in District 3 took place. Mommy and Daddy would watch, as they always did, on a large screen from the mezzanine.

"I have to go to the boys' section," Edison said as we weaved around our fellow youths. "We will meet Mom and Dad at the mezzanine entrance."

"I know, Edison," I sighed, still trying to adjust to the uncomfortable atmosphere.

"Hey, Wirey!" he suddenly said with firmness as he turned me around. He looked me directly in the eye (more discomfort).

"What?"

Edison had always treated me like a baby, even as I grew. He always insisted on being my keeper, and it had always gotten on my nerves. My first Reaping, when a girl from my group who happened to share my name was pulled, he refused to let go of my hand for the entirety of that year's Games, and would force me to leave the room with him whenever our screens announced the death of a Tribute (as if I couldn't guess what was happening). The girl who shared my name didn't survive the first day.

In fact, most of District 3's Tributes rarely made it past the first day. The one notable exception had been the young man who actually won the Games three years ago (he was sixteen). His name was Beetee Latier, a handsome, bespectacled, dark-skinned boy who used his knowledge of electricity to take out his opponents and win for our District for the first time in over twenty-five years. He was the only District 3 Mentor. The only other Victor from our District committed suicide soon after he won, way before I was born.

I remember Daddy muttering something about Beetee Latier being his patient. I never recalled seeing him when I spent my summer holidays in Daddy's office.

"Wiress, just…just relax. You'll be fine." Edison then turned and whisked himself away before I had a chance to respond. I shrugged and casually moved to join the District 3 younger girls' group (District 3 separated its' potential Tributes into the younger kids ages 12-15, and the older ones, who were 16-18 years). I stood in the second-to-last row with my peers.

Most girls in District 3 grow up with a rather modest taste in clothing. It made sense. Feathery gowns and primpy fashions were for the upper-class Districts., the ones that provided the Capitol with frivolities. District 3 didn't have a need for fancy dresses. They were simply inconvenient. I planned on instilling the same values in my own future daughters. Of course, on Reaping days, everyone is dressed to the nines, or as close to the nines as possible. I still look frumpy in my ill-fitting green girls' dress and loose pigtails.

I didn't have to wait long before the Ceremony began. Our Capitol Liaison/Escort, an uppity lady with rainbow-colored hair (ridiculous) named Plume Desrosiers began her usual spiel about glorifying Panem with our ongoing sacrifice, etc., etc. I hated Plume. I just never liked her love of watching the children of Panem battle to the death. It was sickening, really.

Beetee Latier followed Plume's introductions with a quick speech of his own that seemed more or less written for him. He spoke of the honor he felt in winning the 41st Games for the sake of District 3 and how he hoped that he would be able to pass that honor on to whoever was about to be called. I had no idea what his 'being a Mentor' meant. Advice and suggestions could only get a Tribute so far when there were 23 others out with the mindset of 'kill or be killed.' So far, Beetee's efforts didn't do very much. Last year, both of our tributes were quite young (13 and 14) and died on the first day at the Cornucopia bloodbath that usually began the Games every year. The year after Beetee won, the female Tribute, a girl named Curie, had survived until the end stage by hiding and living off of cactus hearts and scorpions she killed in the desert arena, only to be beheaded as she slept by the boy who would go on to win that year: a Career Tribute from District 1. Watching Curie's parents receiving the half-sincere gratitude of that Career during his Victory Tour that winter was hard for me to watch. She was their only child.

Beetee left the stage adjusting his bow tie, his face never falling out of that stone-set neutral glare he wore for the Reaping.

Plume retook the stage with the bins of names at last. My heart didn't skip a beat. The odds were always in my favor. Four slips of paper among thousands. If I could calculate the exact odds…

I didn't even notice at first when Plume announced the Female Tribute's name:

"Wiress Ohmstead."

The numbers in my mind faded away as I looked up, when she called the name the second time.

"Wiress. Ohm-STEAD."

Girls around me stared in my direction. Two towering Peacekeepers were advancing on me. Things fell into place quickly in my head…and then it hit as the Peacekeepers positioned themselves at my side.

"Come on up, dear!" Plume chimed happily from the stage.

Events began unfolding as a blur as everything came together in my mind. Images of beheaded children, murderous Careers, cheering clown-faced Capitol citizens, and vast, open, scary arenas whirred by as I was escorted to the stage. The entire stadium was silent, aside from a few mutters of curious and relieved parents from the mezzanine. I couldn't make out any individual voices, of course. Were Mommy and Daddy crying? Had they run out of the bleachers in sadness? Were they too stunned to speak at all? All I could visualize was Daddy's sad, plain face watching me die on a giant screen in less than two weeks. His baby. No, his young woman. Reduced to a bloody corpse on a battlefield.

And where was Edison? How was he taking this? I ascended the steps to the stage as if I was climbing up to the steps of a gallows. I'd read about gallows and hangings in books. It was still a semi-regularly enforced method of public execution in the outlying districts. In District 3, crime was low, but those executions that did happen were not public around here, and were supposedly carried out by an electric chamber. I always thought of gallows as tall, imposing, and final, which they were.

Sort of like how I felt climbing those stairs. Plume skitted over to me as I walked towards the center of the stage, still in shock.

"Our Female Tribute from District 3, Wiress Ohmstead!" she announced, pushing me forward. A small, formal, polite applause from the crowd rose up.

I heard nothing. Suddenly, Plume started speaking a foreign language as she repeated the steps for the Male Tribute ("Intel Morgenstern!") The tears, a rather odd sensation of my eyes flooding over, began coming then. I didn't even see what Intel Morgenstern looked like from behind the tears.

"Shake hands, Tributes!" Plume encouraged. Nothing in my body moved.

"Well, come on, you two!" she repeated.

A warm hand touched my shoulder. Edison was on the stage?

No. I turned to see the gentle touch belonged to Beetee Latier. Either I was taller than I thought, or he was short for a young man, as we stood nearly eye-to-eye in spite of our three-year age difference. His eyes were brown and sympathetic. They gave me the courage to move again.

I reached out my hand to take the pale, plump hand of my Male Partner, Intel Morgenstern. He looked about my age. His hair was shaggy and curly. His blue eyes were stiff. His teeth could have used my father's care, as they were crooked and yellowish.

"Happy Hunger Games! And…May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor!" Plume cheered as Intel and I were formally taken into custody.

I glared at her. Beetee's hand never left my shoulder, even as we were pushed off of the stage and back into the van waiting to take us to the Justice Building nearby, where we would see our family one last time before leaving home for certain death.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beetee's Journal<em>**

_June 30__th__ (Reaping Day-44th AHG)_

_District 3's Tributes look too much like last year's: defenseless. I suppose I am awaiting another year of failure and tragedy. I only hope it is quick and less terrible than last year, especially for them. _

_Especially for her. _

_The Female Tribute this year is Wiress Ohmstead. And I know her. I know her quite well. _


	2. Chapter II: The Train

My afternoon provided absolutely no clarity for anything. Everyone was speaking a different language, one that I couldn't even begin to process. The colors became sallow and strange. It was like I couldn't process anything correctly. My brain wasn't up to the magnanimous task of interpreting my Reaping into the 44th Hunger Games.

And without my brain, I was utterly helpless, lost in the void.

The District 3 Justice Building was equipped with all of the latest security technology available, so running wasn't even on the table as an option. Intel and I were briskly escorted to two separate rooms off of the main courtroom. My room appeared to be an interrogation room. It was large, empty, hollow, and grey. Beetee finally lifted his hand off of my shoulder as the Peacekeeper charged with my care placed me inside.

In his deep baritone voice, he gave instructions that might as well have been scripted: "Your family is being escorted here for a five-minute goodbye session. If you have a close friend or boyfriend, they will be given a separate five minutes to say goodbye to you here in private. In an hour, the train will arrive and you will be escorted on board. You will not be given any form of communication with your District after this point, as you will be the property of the Capitol. Do you understand?"

I nodded in silence. The last thing I saw before the door is shut in my face is Beetee Latier's sympathetic face.

Ten minutes passed like ten years. I stood by the tiny window and watched at District 3 went from yellow to grey, then from grey to black as a heavy rainstorm passes in. The drops are thick and bulky. This was the kind of rain I usually fell asleep to. As a baby, it was the only sound that could bring me out of a fit. It had the opposite effect of the loud noises of the usual Inner City business.

Just as I thought I was forgotten about, the door to my 'cell' opened, and in swept Mommy first, usually rational and centered, red-faced and flustered now. She scooped me into her chubby arms and held me to her breast. I couldn't breathe.

"Never did I…I couldn't have…how…oh dear…" was all she could articulate. My eyes had dried from my slight loss of control on the stage at the stadium, but hers were only getting wetter.

When she finally let me go, she pushed me out to arm's length and studied me a moment, beholding her only daughter for the last time. "You…you're an intelligent young lady. Know yourself and know where you are. I think…I think you can do it."

It took all of my mental strength to nod in agreement for the sake of her comfort and leave it at that. She didn't take her eyes off me as she stepped backward, giving Edison room to slide in and have his turn with me.

"Oh, Wirey," he mumbled. His look said what his voice couldn't: _The one time I can't protect you…_

I look down at my feet. I wanted to say, "At least you're free now. Go pass your passport exams, Edison. Name some new invention after me in a decade."

Of course, I couldn't. And I didn't. I was still as silent as ever.

For as much as Edison saw himself as my keeper, I never felt any sort of emotional bond with him beyond what two members of the same family would naturally share. Edison was my brother, and he protected me, when he could, out of familial love and duty. I, on the other hand, had nothing in common with him and knew it. He didn't even interest me that much.

Even now, standing on the eve of my imminent death, I felt no compulsion to embrace him.

But when Daddy came into the room, all of my barriers broke down, and I could feel myself flying into his waiting arms and losing my senses again. He received me trembling.

"Oh Daddy," I began sobbing. He hushed me gently.

"Wiress, I will see you again in three weeks," he promised.

"Oh no, no, no…" I began repeating, feeling my mind being jerked around once again into a fit of unfamiliar tempest.

"Yes, Wiress. I know it. Look at me," Daddy asked. He took my chin in his hand and lifted it so my gaze met his. "Remember the book I gave you, the one about the creatures that lived here before people?"

I nodded. He was talking about a pre-history textbook he'd salvaged (speculative history books were essentially banned in Panem) that talked in depth about evolution, and our ancestral counterparts. I was probably one of a small handful of young people in District 3 who even knew about dinosaurs, and the evidence of their existence.

"Remember who survived and thrived? And how died out?" he asked me.

"The dinosaurs died out," I replied. "And apes evolved and survived to become us."

Daddy nodded. Mommy cleared her throat to warn us about this kind of talk. Panem banned such lessons because it wasn't relevant to our times, according to the government. In addition, it went against the belief system of the Capitol, which generally stated that people capable of the glory of the citizens of Panem could not have possibly evolved out of a lower species.

"The dinosaurs were big and brawny," Daddy continued. "But they still died because they didn't see the big comets coming. The apes and other species were smarter. They could hide and preserve their ways so they could be safe, right?"

I nodded again. Daddy was trying to assure me that being big and strong didn't necessarily mean you were going to win the Hunger Games. Having strength didn't mean much unless you had a plan.

"I'll have a new dress…a proper-fitting dress for you when you return home. You'll be a big star. You'll need to dress like one," he said before kissing my brow. "I'll be waiting for you, Wiress. I love you."

With that, the Peacekeeper burst in and declared that my family had to leave. It took him more effort than he could possibly foresee needing to pry my father and I apart.

I spent the next half hour crying in my empty room. The rain drowned my sobs out.

* * *

><p>District 3 had a very high-tech subway system to help commuters enter and exit the Inner City. But even those trains, which I had used regularly throughout my childhood, were toys compared to the bullet train that was sent to carry me to the Capitol. Plume, accompanying us aboard, had commented with pleasure that our accommodations would be first class, and that we would arrive at our destination the following morning. She showed Intel and I to our separate sleeping cars, and then to the dining car, where she left us.<p>

"Your Mentor is getting settled, but he wishes to speak with you before too long. Help yourselves to the buffet…" she said with artificial warmth before trotting off.

Intel and I had never starved before, but nothing prepared us for the array of dishes, hot, cold, savory, and sweet, that were spread out before us. Meats, salads, cakes, candied fruits and vegetables, drinks, all colors and sizes, were ours for the tasting. I wasn't hungry, but Intel grabbed a dish and began helping himself. Perhaps that was how he coped with the shock of our hopeless situation. His large, porky body indicated as such.

While Intel ate, I moved about the car, taking in the odd sights, sounds, and smells around me. There wasn't anything for me to read, sadly. My brain was only starting to regain its footing, and it responded to the smells of the buffet mixed with the smells of fresh paint and polish by triggering my gag reflex. I suddenly felt my stomach retch. Out of instinct, I ran over to a nearby wastebasket to heave, even though I consciously knew there wasn't anything in my stomach to upchuck. The painful dry-heaves ceased after a few minutes. As I raised my head, I felt dizzy.

That was when Beetee arrived. He took one look in my direction, then his eyes darted to Intel, already close to finishing his plateful of rich Capitol food, then back to me. One of his Tributes couldn't keep food out of his mouth, the other couldn't seem to keep anything down at all.

Beetee walked towards the buffet and began filling up a crystal plate with a few of the less-colorful items on the bar as I watched, still breathless and holding my abdomen. He then approached me with the plate. It held a small chunk of bread, a few raw carrots, and some rice mixture.

"It's not as rich as most of the food is. We're going to have a long evening ahead of us and you need to have something. I trust you didn't have too much this morning," he said with calm authority. He held then plate out to me. I hesitated and took it, following him back to the front of the car.

Once the three of us took seats in the ridiculously-plushed chairs facing one another, Beetee began explaining his role and what he intended to do with us. I found that the food he'd offered me did help me to settle my stomach. I even decided that I'd try some of the fancier offerings later on.

"You are both younger than the average tribute, but don't let that discourage either of you. The youngest Victor to date was two months short of his fifteenth birthday when he won. My job is to make sure you're cared for, trained for survival, and able to get sponsors for the arena. You both know what sponsors are?"

I had a vague idea. They only covered sponsor gifts during the broadcasts in retrospect if the gifts had a pivotal role in a Tribute's death or near-escape from death. Intel apparently had no idea at all.

Beetee nodded. "District 3 Tributes don't typically get many sponsors because we don't come off as a good investment. We aren't brawny enough to have great odds. We aren't poor enough to draw sympathy like the Tributes from 10, 11, and 12. You both are too old to draw sympathy because of age. Proving your worth to sponsors is going to best come from your personality and performance during the pre-Game interviews. "

"But how are we going to prove we have a chance anyway?" Intel asked, setting his finally-empty plate aside.

"The last of the Reapings have just finished, and in a few minutes they are going to broadcast a First Impressions segment. We are going to watch it through together. As the old saying goes: know your enemy. We can discuss a plan tonight and tomorrow morning after we analyze what we're up against. Speaking of which, don't be discouraged by what you see. The Tributes from 1, 2, and 4 are likely to be—"

"—Career Tributes," I suddenly interjected. Beetee and Intel glared at me with interest. Beetee nodded. "They go to special fighting schools just to volunteer, and that's why they're so strong."

Beetee nodded and smiled at me. "Wiress, that's exactly right. How did you know?"

"My brother would hold discussions with his friends about it. I thought it was speculation, but I guess it isn't after all," was my reply. Intel and Beetee nodded again.

"So, there is a screen set up in the lounge car next door. Shall we head over to watch the Reapings?"

* * *

><p>I took detailed notes while watching the Reapings with Beetee and Intel. Sometimes I couldn't make out a Tribute's last name or age, but in the end, names didn't matter.<p>

**Tributes Reaped: 44****th**** Annual Hunger Games**

**District 1 (Careers): **_Sheen Rhodes (male, 18); Lustra Vanderstone (female, 17) *both volunteered*_

Both District 1 Tributes, as usual, were pale, light-haired, and naturally beautiful. The girl's hair was golden red, and her eyes were sharp and icy blue. The boy had rather large arms, but his smile was what caught my attention first...it was almost unnaturally white.

**District 2 (Careers): **_Janus Gorge (male, 17); Juno Gorge (female, 17) *Volunteered/Twins*_

Dionysius Flickerman had a lot to say about this 'history-making' set of twins who volunteered at the same Reaping. Both were dark-skinned and very intimidating. Again, this was to be expected.

**District 4 (Careers): **_Shelley Montez (male, 17); Delphine Starr (female, 18) *male volunteered*_

The male volunteered, his toned body implied he was a fantastic swimmer, something Beetee told us to expect from Disctrict 4. The girl was small for her age and not as physically imposing as her fellow 'Careers' but she looked happy to have been picked nonetheless. Something about her put me off from the beginning.

**District 5: **_Rafe - (male, 14); Magda Valens (female, 16)_

Beetee explained the District 5 was like a "sister District" to 3, as they provided the raw power that we harnessed and applied. Both Tributes weren't very happy to be Reaped from the looks of it.

**District 6: **_Tatsuya Akamatsu (male, 17); Alesta Smythe (female, 14)_

The male from District 6 was remarkably handsome. I didn't know a boy could look the way he looked, with his Pacific/Asian face, his intense black eyes, and long, long hair. The girl, on the other hand, was almost as plain and inconsequential-looking as myself.

**District 7:**_ Red Calmere (male, 15); Flora DuMonde (female, 18)_

Neither tributes from 7 really stood out as contenders. Both looked utterly terrified of being there. The girl was very masculine looking…she would've appeared threatening were she not so afraid-looking.

**District 8: **_Lawrence Singer (male, 13); Marilla Jessop (female, 12)_

District 8 had to send two very small, young children to the Games. Lawrence had rich, dark skin like Beetee's. The girl wore pigtails like I did. Only on her, they looked like they were supposed to be there.

**District 9: **_Christophe Tanner (male, 16); Locus Troy (female, 17)_

The girl from 9, Locus, was tall and muscular. She had the look of a Career, but the posture she held herself with contradicted her body type.

**District 10: **_Loren- (male, 16); Kore Bilello (female, 16)_

The Tributes from 10 didn't have any former Victors from home to mentor them. Even Beetee didn't know what would happen to them.

**District 11: **_Cleave Freeman (male, 18); Pear - (female, 14)_

Up to this point, most of the Tributes looked scared. No, the Tributes ere beginning to look resigned to their fate…brave, but tragic. Though the girl smiled and waved to the crowd before disappearing into the Justice Building.

**District 12: **_Mandel Kaminski (male, 12); Donna Blackbear (female, 15)_

Two sad, young, malnourished individuals pasting a smile for the camera in spite of themselves. I always pitied the deaths of the Tributes from 12 the most. They've had only one Victor in 43 years, and that was the 2nd Games. That Victor was supposedly self-medicating with Morphling, and when the cameras turned to her it was evident that her addiction would ensure she wouldn't live another five years.

I didn't care that the train as super-fast and super-smooth. The bed in my car was not my bed, and I would not sleep in it. Instead, I spent the entire night pacing from one end of the car to the other, comforting myself with the only song I knew all of the words too…

**_Hickory Dickory Dock, _**

**_ The mouse ran up the clock,_**

**_ The clock struck one, _**

**_ And down he run, _**

**_ Hickory Dickory Dock…_**

* * *

><p><em>Beetee's Journal<em>

_June 30__th__ (continued) 44__th__ AHG: Reaping Day_

…_My family sent me to a new dentist when I was thirteen so I could have my braces put on and cared for properly. Dr. Ohmstead was a very gentle professional, of course. _

_Going into his office monthly for my tightenings and cleanings were a hassle, but he would do the best he could to ensure my comfort. That's when I began seeing Wiress wandering around. _

_I can't say why she was there in her father's office, especially on summer recesses. I would catch her out of the corner of my eye as I was sitting in the chair waiting for Dr. Ohmstead to continue working on me. She'd be clutching a large book to her chest and darting around a corner, almost as if she didn't want to be seen. _

"_Oh, that's Wiress. She's my younger one, my girl," was how Dr. Ohmstead described her to me when I asked about her. "She keeps to herself in the spare exam room mostly. She is a reader like her mother. Now, open for me again, Mr. Latier…" _

_My last visit before my braces were removed, I finally saw her face, even if it was for a second. As she turned her corner she looked at me curiously. Her eyes looked me over once. I smiled for her from the dentist chair and waved, but the smile scared her off, and she turned away again. I hadn't seen her since until her Reaping today. _

_But one look into her frightened brown eyes and it all came back to me at once. How am I going to send my dentist's pretty daughter to her death in five days?_


	3. Chapter III: The Tribute Parade

With no sleep to my credit, I watched the Avoxes set out the breakfast buffet in the dining car while it was still dark outside. I sat on an ottoman, my knees tucked under my chin, staring at their sad, tired faces. They couldn't talk, but they could still cry. One of the males glanced quickly at me before scurrying away.

Did they consider themselves lucky that they at least weren't in my place? At that moment, I felt very low.

After I made sure the Avoxes weren't returning, I helped myself to a somewhat larger meal than I'd had yesterday. I filled my plate mainly with fruit and bread (basic fare was what I was used to). I wasn't feeling adventurous enough to try the stranger looking foods, though that one pie-looking food labeled 'quiche' smelled ravishing. I poured a glass of milk and returned to the ottoman by the window and slowly ate as the sun rose over what appeared to be flatland.

Another book I found and read a long time ago….Flatland. Daddy let me read it after Edison finished it. I found the book's concept to be fascinating…a whole world where it didn't matter what you looked like…you were always the same to the person looking at you: a flat line. Even if you had twenty sides, you were a line on the two-dimensional plane. I didn't like how women couldn't be anything but lines, though. Women should've been shapes too.

As it got lighter, Beetee joined me in the dining car. He seemed to have not gotten much sleep either as he sat down beside me.

"Feeling better, Wiress?"

Physically, I did, but I shook my head anyway.

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I understand. On my trip in to the Capitol the first time, I couldn't eat anything until after the Tribute Parade."

I didn't talk. I didn't meet his gaze. But I was listening.

"I might as well ask you now," he said. "Do you have any special abilities? Anything that we could fine-tune to help you in the arena?"

No.

I sighed and pulled my legs tighter to my chest. "I can read really quick. But that's no good. No, I have nothing."

Beetee didn't blink an eye.

"I'm dead. Condemned. Aren't I?"

"I wasn't, was I?" he replied.

"But I don't know a lot about electricity like you. I only know about…" I paused, not realizing I was rambling and didn't know how to finish the sentence. I added what came to mind first.

"…dinosaurs."

I swore I saw a smile curl on Beetee's lips.

"Okay then, Wiress. Here's my first piece of advice to you: what killed the dinosaurs?"

"A comet. Then a worldwide winter." Beetee frowned.

"Think beyond that, Wiress, I know you can."

I thought for almost a full minute before coming up with another answer.

"The dinosaurs weren't smart enough to survive."

Beetee nodded. "They were strong, but they had a fatal flaw, and that was that they didn't know how to survive the cold. In the arena, always look for a flaw to exploit."

A flaw. A flaw? The Capitol prided itself on being flawless. If there were flaws to be found in the Games, surely they'd be found after forty-four years of child murder.

"I don't understand," I replied.

"Well, it will be my job to help you understand," Beetee said with a light but still solemn tone. "I intend to bring home a Victor to District 3 this year."

"So does every other mentor," I moaned. I buried my face in my knees. I did not want to talk in riddles to the one piece of proof that District 3 kids are good for more than helping people with math homework.

I felt a strong hand pat my shoulder. "I'll let you get it out of your system while we're still on the train. But once we're in the Training Center, you'll be ready to learn and survive, am I clear?"

I didn't reply, and I didn't breathe until I heard Beetee's footsteps trail off. Then, I looked out the window again at the world whizzing by until my tired body finally nodded off.

* * *

><p>We arrived in the Capitol just after lunchtime. I thought my senses were overwhelmed in the Inner City back in District 3. I truly didn't know what it felt like to be bombarded left and right with intensity at every turn until I was escorted off of the train and into the Training Center.<p>

The smell was sharp, clean, heavily perfumed with wafts of various floral and fruity scents, all of which were too sweet to comfort me. The lighting was harsh, bright, and artificial. I couldn't hear anything…the sound of people cheering for Intel and I as Peacekeepers shoved us through the terminal made my brain vibrate. I could feel the sweat soaking my eyebrows. And there was no one and nothing familiar. Beetee only watched from the train door as his Tributes were whisked off into the Center. I only saw a flash of his dark skin among the painfully bright colors of the Capitol as I was guided away.

Intel and I were separated after entering the Center, and I was brought to a large room with curtain dividers blocking off sections. A section labeled '3-G' was waiting for me. I was put into a cotton shift (like those ones they give out if someone is being admitted to a hospital) and, quite literally, hosed down. The attendants working on me all had unnaturally colored hair, wild makeup, and strange proportions to their faces.

Needless to say, I was extremely afraid. And I wasn't even in the Arena yet.

"Her hair could use some color—"

"—and volume—"

"—but at least her skin is clear."

"Nice eyes too—but a unibrow!"

"She'll need some padding in her top—"

"—but no heels! She's tall enough…"

I felt degraded and insulted. They talked about me as if I wasn't in the room, let alone lying on the table beneath them as they poked, prodded, plucked, and pinched every inch of me. They ripped at my eyebrows and slathered creams and colognes into my hair that made my scalp burn. My heart pounded against my ribcage as my fear of the unknown raged through my body.

Eventually, I was left alone in the cubicle to await my 'stylist.' It must have only been a few minutes, but it seemed like maybe an hour. I sat up on the table and curled my knees up to my chin again. I thought about what was happening to me. I could be dead in as little as five days, and I would never see my father again. I would never spend full nights reading his old books and sipping the cheap but highly-caffeinated tea District 3 citizens usually drank to work late. I would never realize my dream of being an archivist or a historian.

Interrupting my thought, a man of about my height, with tall, blue hair swished into the cubicle.

"My name is Aloysius, but you can call me Ally if you'd like."

I glared at hi, not sure of what to make of this small but flighty man. His skin was dyed a very peachy shade of orange. His lips held too much collagen and were set in a permanent pout. He wore diamond-studded glasses. His ears were surgically altered to point upward, giving him an elf-like appearance.

"I'll be your stylist. Before I can measure you for your costume for the Tribute's Parade tonight, tell me a little bit about yourself," Ally said quickly. I looked down at my feet.

"I'm Wiress. I don't do very much."

Ally frowned and shook his head. "This isn't what I expected. You're from the District of Invention…the brightest people in the country, yes?"

"Not me. I just read and hum to myself," I replied.

"So you think," Ally said. He slipped his skinny fingers under my chin and lifted it up to meet his eye. He studied me, and I saw his eyes were dyed a very pretty shade of amethyst. "Ah, but I can see more to you, Miss Wiress. You lack confidence. You're one of the brightest young people I've seen but you don't like to show everyone that light."

"How do you know that?"

"You don't like looking me in the eye," Ally said, letting go of my chin. I didn't turn away. "You're too busy observing your surroundings and learning as much as you can about this new world."

Ally smiled. His teeth were so white they could've refracted the light from the ceiling. I didn't like the artificiality of it, but something about his grin still seemed sincere.

"So…you're going to try and get me to show my…my 'light'?" I asked. I, admittedly, was a little confused. And still overcoming my bashfulness.

Ally shook his head. "I'm going to turn on the light bulb for you, Miss Wiress. But whether or not you remove the shade and chase the shadows away is entirely up to you."

* * *

><p>I had often seen the live feeds of the Tributes Parade and wondered what it would've been like to be in those crowds, watching the glorified sacrificial lambs make their way through the streets. Now, I was there, and I would be riding in those self-driven chariots, Intel at my side, pretending that the people watching weren't going to place bets on how soon I would be killed.<p>

The entire afternoon I had worked with Ally and Plume to perfect my appearance for this grand entrance. Ally measured me and did my hair, makeup, and costuming. Plume tried to work with me on posture and waving. I still didn't feel ready by the time the evening rolled around. Plume brought me to the place where I would mount my chariot and make my debut. My hair was waved, the color darkened, and a golden circlet dotted with tiny blinking lights ran across my forehead. Ally had dressed me in an empire-waist gossamer dress, colored a shimmering gold. The fabric created a light of its own sort that made me, quite literally, glow.

"It's luminescent fabric," Ally had told me. "Depending on the lighting, it glows as bright as a household light bulb. Out there during the parade, the lighting will make you shine brighter than the jewels President Candida is wearing."

Intel was already standing by our chariot when Plume and I arrived. He wore a very dapper suit made of the same fabric. Beetee was standing off to the sides, alternating looks between us and the tributes around us, in suits of their own waiting for the parade to begin, as if he were comparing all of us and calculating the results in his head. I looked around myself. District 1's Tributes, Lustra and Sheen, were dressed in what looked like very real fur coats and lavishly jeweled hats. District 4's Tributes wore intricately-patterned outfits made of fishing nets. District 6's Tributes wore sequined versions of what looked like hovercraft stewards' uniforms. District 7's Tributes were dressed, quite simply, as trees.

"Wiress, Intel," Plume began. "When you go out there, wave to the crowd, smile, and act as if you're overwhelmed by the amazing things you see—"

Intel looked at me and rolled his eyes with a smirk curling on his lips.

"—and remember to keep your posture straight!" Plume emphasized.

"Tributes, mount your chariots!" an announcement came over the loudspeaker. The chariots, all lined up in order, began to stir. I got into the chariot first, struggling to hold up the hem of my long dress. Intel climbed in after me. We waited for a moment as the escorts all stepped back.

I heard Intel take a deep breath next to me.

"So, the beginning of the end is nigh," he said to me. "I bet there's a hundred-thousand people out there waiting to look at us."

"I'm scared," I whispered. He smiled at me.

"At least we aren't alone. Maybe there's some small comfort in that."

Intel had soft eyes, and they looked like they were about to water over. I quickly looked down and shook my head.

"If we're going to die, I wish we didn't have to do it with so many people watching," I said harshly. "It will be…degrading and humiliating."

"I know, that's why they do it," Intel replied. "All of this fanfare is to punish us before they kill us."

I could hear the beginning strains of the Panem national anthem as the first chariot began rolling out. The queue moved forward. Startled, I gripped the sides of the chariot as if I was about to fall off.

"I know we never met before," Intel said. "But for what it's worth, I think you're smart enough to have a good shot out there next week."

I couldn't help but smile a little. "And you too," I replied. Intel shrugged.

"I was more of a screw-off in school. I'm not too smart or athletic."

Before I could reply, our chariot jerked forward, and I was blinded and deafened by light and sound, the likes of which I'd never fathomed were possible.

People cheered as we entered the stadium. The national anthem, played by a huge orchestra of drummers and trumpeters, accosted us as we rolled by at hat felt like a hundred miles an hour. Our glowing ensembles seemed to be going over well with the crowd. I looked up above me and saw our faces on the giant screens provided for the benefit of those in the back rows. I looked…

…attractive.

At least by Capitol standards. I doubted my perfected hair and made-up face would do me much good back home.

I looked over at Intel. He was struggling too, but he was managing to smile and wave to his side of the stadium. I thought about what Beetee and Daddy would advise…

_"Wiress, play the crowd. Earn some sponsors."_

_ "My darling, you look beautiful. Show the world how gorgeous my daughter is!"_

Hearing their voices in my head simultaneously, it was enough to clear my head enough and regain my senses to respond accordingly. I smiled and looked around at the audiences cheering for us. I even lifted my hand and began waving.

Swimming lights, buzzing roars, time fell apart and I was hovering there just pretending I knew what was going on. Fighting back the urge to sit down on the ground and curl up was draining all of my energy.

Then, the chariot stopped. We were standing below the balcony where President Candida was about to address us. I could see her through the tunnel my eyes could still focus on. She was much older than television made her appear to be. Her hair was dyed lemony-yellow. She wore black. Her intern, whom she introduced a few months ago during Capitol Update Nightly as Coriolanus Snow, stood at her side…he looked to be between 45-50 (old for an 'intern'). President Candida raised a hand to address us, and the entire crowd was silenced. My ears were thankful, but I was still extremely lightheaded.

"Upon this, the forty-fourth Annual Hunger Games, I commend these twenty-four tributes for their valor, their courage, and their sacrifice—"

_Some sacrifice_, I think to myself. _Sacrifice implies consent to be given. We were forced here._

"Each one of you represents the pride and thriving culture of Pane, from the shimmering silver skyscrapers of District 1, to the dark, underground caverns of District 12, you all have come here to serve as a reminder of Panem's glory and dark, tragic past. Happy Hunger Games, and May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor."

The crowds cheered, and those on the President's balcony, including Mr. Snow, began tossing white roses down at us. The first rose Mr. Snow tossed landed in my chariot, and I stooped to pick it up. I sniffed it.

_What an odd scent for a white rose…_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal<strong>_

_July 1__st__- __(__Arrival in the Capitol__-44th AHG)_

_Arrived in the Capitol approximately 1:15pm, Capitol Time. My Tributes were taken to the Center before I even stepped off the train. Wiress in particular looked overwhelmed. _

_ Tributes Parade was a success. The luminescent fabric Aloysius used was a unique touch. Early polls suggesting District 3 Tributes were second-best dressed (behind One, of course). I hope their early popularity continues. It might save their lives. _

_ Being back for the fourth time isn't any less terrible than the years before. Rumor has it that the Training Center will be using some new programs. Quarters are nice, but neither Tributes are showing much appetite, preferring to go to sleep upon arrival. _

_ It is unfair to Intel, but I am going to keep an eye on Wiress. She seems so lost here, and yet I see a real chance in her to win. I don't know where my inkling comes from, but I know it is there nonetheless. _


	4. Chapter IV: Training

That night, I slept in silk sheets. In a bed that was four times my small little pallet at home. In a room that was bigger than the entire apartment my family shared. In a suite that rivaled the mansions and hotels I'd only read about. In spite of everything, I slept well. The moment my head fell onto the goose-feather pillow, I was out cold until a knock on the door awoke me at seven o'clock the next morning.

I was instructed to shower and change into a violet tunic and black leggings, my uniform for training, which was going to take place over the next four days. Three days of training with the other twenty-three Tributes, and a fourth day with Beetee.

For the first time since being Reaped, I ate well. The table in the suite's foyer had an enormous spread filled with every kind of breakfast food I could comprehend, and some I couldn't imagine. I ended up eating a blueberry scone, some bacon, some kind of egg sandwich, and a bunch of shiny red grapes. I even treated myself to a cup of coffee (in District 3, people tend to avoid coffee for its' known addictive properties and side effects). The hot, bitter liquid was comforting as it ran down my throat.

Intel and Plume joined me during the meal, and after we'd finished (Intel had indulged in TWO plates of pastry and cocoa) we headed down to the basement of the Training Center. In the elevator, Plume gave us a speech about what to expect.

"Beetee won't be with you until the final day of training, but you will get to talk with him at dinner. The Gamemakers will be constantly determining your odds and strengths during these three days so do your best. There will be four compulsory exercises, one physical, one endurance, one intellectual, and one survivalist. The rest of the time you can choose to train alone, together, or with other Tributes. This will also be a good time to make allies if you so wish."

I wondered briefly why Beetee wasn't the one telling me this, but decided to shrug it off.

* * *

><p>The training gym was a huge, dim room lined with a huge array of weaponry, survival supplies, and things I didn't even recognize. Most of the other Tributes were already present and looking around, each pair in a differently-colored tunic.<p>

Once the Tributes from all of the districts were assembled, we were given a brief orientation speech by a Gamemaker named Alabaster. She was rather…blunt about our situation, choosing to start off her speech by pointing out how twenty-three of us wouldn't be alive by the end of the month. I looked around and saw most of the others looking around as well, as if we were all silently assessing one another. The boy from District 6 (bright red tunic) looked directly at me, his eyes so dark I couldn't tell where his iris stopped and his pupil began. I felt a chill go up my back as he smiled and gave a silent nod in my direction. I awkwardly looked behind me, as if the beautiful District 1 girl was behind me and the real target of his greeting. No one was behind me, and the District 1 tributes (goldenrod tunics) were, in fact, on the other side of the group altogether.

That first morning, most of the Tributes seemed to stick to their own pairs. Intel and I chose to do the same.

"Want to try a knife-throwing station?" Intel asked.

I shook my head. "I'd rather learn how to find food or something first." One of my first concerns was, coming from a district where we neither starved nor went homeless, was that we'd be at a disadvantage as far as survivalist instincts went. Arenas varied widely in their manifestations over the years, from forests to deserts to mountainsides. Sometimes an arena would be 100% artificial. The year I was eight, the arena took place in what used to be an old military nuclear bunker, where it was impossible to find wild food and fresh water. But more often than not, the arenas were in outdoor, natural environments. I knew I wouldn't have much of an advantage in such a place, having spent as little time outdoors as conceivably possible.

Intel shrugged and nodded. We found a station that displayed various edible and poisonous plants, and we quizzed one another one how to tell the difference and how to find each for most of the morning.

In the afternoon, however, Intel begged for us to split up and to try weaponry and combat training, and I felt like I had to oblige him, even though I was hesitant. He floated over to the sword display, but I preferred to wander towards a peculiar station at the other end of the gym. The weaponry at this table were all made from natural materials, and each had instructions beside it how to construct it.

I picked up a very long pole comprised of two shaved wooden branches tied together with rope. It was almost as long as I was tall. I figured it was meant to be some sort of blunt weapon, and I held the very end in my hand like a baseball bat (baseball was still sometimes played by the children in District 3) and began swinging. The pole was so long that every swing threw me off balance.

"It's not a club," said a soft, deep voice from behind me. I turned around to see the handsome boy from 6 looking at me, a smirk running across his face.

"O….oh?" I stuttered, avoiding eye contact and instead looking at the floor. The boy stepped forward and held out a hand.

"Yes, let me show you," he said gently. I stared at his hand…there were only a few lines…deep, solid lines. His hand was smooth and pale.

I finally gathered up the courage to look into his eyes, though I couldn't do so for long. I handed him the pole.

"This is a bo staff," he said matter-of-factly. "You don't swing it like a bat to use it. You swing it from the middle like this…"

Then he demonstrated it for me. He was swift and concentrated on his routine as he displayed a magnificent dance with the bo staff. It looked like when done, no adversary could get close enough to strike him.

Then, he stopped, took a breath, and handed it over to me. I held the staff in my hand and looked around.

"I…I don't know if…"

"You can," said the boy. "Start by using two hands to swing it around, just to get a feel for its' weight and power. Once you get comfortable, you can try it one-handed—"

"—I'm Wiress," I blurted out, looking into his eyes again. The boy seemed caught only slightly off guard before he smiled. His smile was beautiful to me.

"That's a very lovely name. It suits you. My name is Tatsuya, but I'll be fine with Tatsu," he replied. I felt my cheeks getting red, giving my thoughts away.

Tatsuya was an unusual name. Ethnic? So rare these days, ethnic names from the days way before Panem existed. He was lucky. The only thing 'ethnic' about my name was that it was an original name from my District.

"Thank you…Tatsu," I sighed, before turning back to the staff in my hands.

By the end of the afternoon, I had actually developed some ease with the staff. Tatsu worked with me for most of the time, but he left me to my own devices after I felt comfortable swinging the staff one-handed. I practiced aiming and using the weapon to fend off attacks by using one of the gym's pitching machines, which threw heavy-weighted shot put balls at me at various rates, based on the skill level I'd enter into it. I did get some terrible bruises at first, but after about an hour's worth of exercises, I was able to bat away many of the balls, about 75% of them. By the end of the day, Intel, as well as two of the very young Tributes, had taken to watching me.

But I was still rather uncomfortable. Not with the bo staff, with Tatsu. He was, well, so gentle. And handsome. My chest fluttered whenever I caught him looking at me.

* * *

><p>That first evening, over a supper of roasted groosling and a huge spread of side-dishes, drinks, and sweets, Beetee was talking to us about strategy for training.<p>

"Some mentors believe that hiding your skills from the Career pack before the Games begin will put a target on your back, but I wouldn't worry about it. You two will be underestimated from the beginning because of your origin. From what I hear, one of you is already taking to a skill…"

I looked up from my plate. Beetee was looking at me, a small but still warm and gentle smile on his face.

"Yes. The Boy from Six is teaching me how to use a staff to fight," I replied. Beetee sighed.

"That's interesting, but one thing I would not recommend is making alliances at this stage."

"Why?" I asked. Beetee adjusted his glasses.

"Because it will alter your approach to the Games. If you have allies, you may become vulnerable to a betrayal or worse, a knife in the back. One wrong move from one member of a team, and rest come tumbling down with him. And if your team makes it to the end stage, you'll be forced to face and kill your friends, and psychologically, that could be your downfall. If you want to go home, do not open yourself to any vulnerabilities, physical or mental, Wiress." Beetee never took his eyes off of mine. I swallowed and looked down at my plate. Suddenly, I lost my appetite. Even for the chocolate-covered bananas.

"Tomorrow, and for the rest of training, I would rather the two of you work either alone or with one another," Beetee said seriously. When neither Intel nor I responded, he rose from his seat, slowly pulled the white cloth napkin from the collar of his shirt, and walked away still holding it.

Intel shrugged. "Post-traumatic stress," he diagnosed. "Even talking about it might be enough to trigger it. He's probably trying to avoid such a trigger."

Talking about alliances triggered Beetee? Odd. I remembered Beetee's Games well, and how he ultimately won without a single hand-to-hand fight. Clever Beetee hid in the tree line, working on his wire for most of the Game. He would gather edible vegetation only at night, and gathered rainwater to drink. In the end, he used the Gamemakers' 'games' against them. A Feast was announced, where each Tribute would be able to have a go at a long table full of food and drink…the goal, of course, being that a bloodbath would ensue. Beetee snuck to the Cornicopia the night before and wired it so that anyone in fifty feet would be electrocuted by the high-voltage cloud upon entering it. The table was in that field, so all six of the remaining Tributes, as they went to the Feast, were zapped like mosquitoes in a light trap. He only encountered two others during the initial bloodbath, and only bumping into them as he bolted off.

I looked down at my own plate and thought…if I was lucky enough to survive the month, would I be like that? Would I have flashbacks? How could I possibly kill anyone, especially someone my own age? Would I end up committing suicide?

"I'm done," I whispered, getting up from my place and going to my room. The rest of the evening I spent in the shower, sitting on the floor under the warm water, my knees tucked under my chin, pretending I was under a waterfall.

* * *

><p>Intel and I decided to heed Beetee's advice and stay away from the other Tributes during our second day of training. I only practiced with the staff for an hour to warm up before dragging Intel to the survival stations. There we spent the morning together, quizzing one another on poisonous plants and how to set traps for small game like rabbits. Occasionally, one of the Career Tributes would pass by us and snicker.<p>

"Nerds."

"Bookworms."

"Losers."

"They're trying to intimidate us, so they can make quick work of us later," Intel sighed. I nodded silently as I poured over an information sheet on berries. "We can't let them think we're weak."

I ignored Intel. After he realized this, he got up and began heading towards an axe station. Tatsuya was already over there, so I endeavored to look away. No use in provoking any feelings that would be my death in a few short days.

After lunch (which I ate on my own), I looked at the two stations set up to cover long-term survival in 'special' arenas, such as urban, artificial, or weather-specific (like tundra or desert landscapes) zones. Urban arenas were rare but not unheard of. I'd never seen a tundra arena, but according to my parents, two of the first ten Games had snow-covered wasteland settings. Speculation a few years ago was that the Gamemakers would one day use the ruins of District 13 as an arena, perhaps for the next Quarter Quell…and that it would be radioactive.

I didn't have much to learn at the city arena station. After all, I'd lived in a city my entire life. I knew how to look for the possibility of food, downed power wires that were still live, and so on. So I spent most of my time at the station on cold-weather, arid-weather, and artificial settings. The station information hinted at an 'artificial' arena being something like a giant bank vault, a steel labyrinth, or a locked-down abandoned shopping center. These ideas fascinated me. The afternoon went by quickly.

Just before the training day ended, I was approached. Looking up, Tatsuya was smiling down at me.

"No staff work today?" he asked gently.

I shook my head and stood up. "I warmed up this morning."

"Well, tomorrow we get assessed individually, so I hope you're ready for it," he replied.

"Get away," I suddenly snapped, turning around.

Tatsuya caught up to me. "Hold on, Wiress, there's nothing to mistrust about me—"

"—there's something to mistrust about everyone here, especially you," I muttered before quickly moving away. This time, he didn't follow me.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal<strong>_

_**Day 2 of Training**_

_ Intel is showing some slight promise at axe throwing, and Wiress is taking up a bo staff to some degree of success. But I still don't think it will be enough to save either of them._

_ I never escaped the Hunger Games. Each year someone else takes a stab at me and I lose a little more of my life. I think just having Wiress as a Tribute is drilling that into me more than anyone in the past few years. I have the feeling her death will be the first to haunt me for a long, long time. _


	5. Chapter V: Shine

The next day Intel and I, along with all of the other Tributes, were assessed, and I was a nervous wreck the entire time. Not that Tribute ratings were ever absolute, but they were always a relatively accurate prediction of who would go far and who wouldn't make it past the first hour. If one was rated below a four, they might as well say their prayers because they are all but expected to die at the first bloodbath. Beetee had gotten a six. He was a rare Victor with a score below an eight. Six was only slightly above average.

For the Gamemakers, I presented a brief routine with the staff I'd choreographed that morning during training. I placed myself in front of three dummies, pretending they were Careers set to attack. I went at them, expecting to decapitate each one with ease. When the dummies didn't even sway on their bases, I began to sweat. I got more and more frustrated trying to make a dent that eventually, and merely at random, I whacked one hard enough in the forehead that the head jerked back and the neck broke. The dummy turned red, indicating that had it been a real person, it would be dead. By the end of my allotted ten minutes, another one of the dummies was a bright yellow, meaning it had been seriously injured (I'd hit it in the chest…I must have caused internal bleeding). The Gamemakers thanked me, and I left, almost forgetting to put the staff back.

That evening, we ate supper around the television monitor, waiting for the scores to be announced. Dionysius Flickerman was chatting silently (the monitor was on mute) for the time being. I, again, was without appetite. Even Intel wasn't too hungry, consigning himself to a small sandwich. His assessment had been a disaster, or so he said.

"I was trying to show them some knife-throwing I tried to –pick up, but I missed the targets every time, and one time I even dropped a knife as I went to throw it," he said sadly. There was a resigned but sorrowful tone to his voice and demeanor, as if he knew the worst was his to face. Beetee actually gave a semi-reassuring smile and patted the boy on the back.

"Scores are more for sponsors' reference and for the bookies," he said. "I only had a six, and one of the first years, the girl who won was given a three. Don't lose hope just yet. Tomorrow when I hold individual sessions with each of you, we can discuss your next moves."

Plume, who was helping herself to a second plate of fruit as bright as her clothes, nodded and laughed. "Yes, neither of you should take these assessment scores too seriously."

I couldn't possibly take anything seriously if Plume was saying it.

"—and as you know, the Tributes are rated on a scale of one to twelve…"

Beetee had turned the volume back on the monitor. The time had come.

"From District One, Sheen Rhodes with a score of…eight. Lustra Vanderstone with a score of…nine."

Eight was low for a Career. My heart was beating with so much nervous force that I swear it was crashing against my ribs.

"District Two…Janus Gorge with a score of ten. And his twin sister, Juno Gorge also with a score of ten…"

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Beetee had slid over to me to comfort me. Why me and not Intel, who stayed in his seat, eyes glued to the screen.

"District Three, we have Intel Morgenstern with a score of…four."

I saw Intel's shoulders drop. Four wasn't exactly a score that would get him any sponsors.

"And also from District Three, we have Wiress Ohmstead with a score of…seven."

I felt something lump in my chest. Seven was a score that showed I had some potential…I'd heard some people call it a 'Dark Horse' rating. I looked to Beetee to see how I should react to such a score. He was smiling warmly at me. "It's above average. You did something they liked."

"It isn't a great score," I mumbled. Beetee shook his head in disagreement.

"It's better than mine was," he said tenderly.

I looked over to where Intel sat, contemplating his low rating. He looked lost and lonely, and I knew such a feeling all too well. I wanted to comfort him, but Plume was pour all of us glasses of wine and pressing them into our hands.

"Let's toast to Wiress' rating—"

"—no!" I barked, standing up and ripping my shoulder out of Beetee's grip. I took my glass of wine and threw it onto the floor. Then, losing myself in a moment of pure emotion, so strong that it was giving me a headache, I stomped on the glass with my foot. Plume went ghostly white.

"I don't want to toast my rating! I want to go home and not kill people! Plume, you can go stuff your wig in a disposal! You aren't going to die on camera in two days!" In a huff, I tore out of the room and locked myself in my bedroom, refusing to speak to anyone for the rest of the evening.

Beetee knocked on my door four times that night, but I didn't let anyone in. He eventually slipped a note under my door just as I was climbing into bed. "Report to the Training Center at 11am tomorrow. Don't forget your interview tomorrow night."

Damn.

* * *

><p>The room was much quieter when I appeared there the next morning. Only one other MentorTribute team was making use of the place, and it was the female mentor from Four and her male tribute, who'd gotten a very low score for a Career (five). Apparently on Individual Training Day, teams could make use of any part of the building as long as they stayed within the walls of it.

Beetee was sitting by the fire-making station when I arrived. He saw me walk towards him and got to his feet, as if the polite gesture were some sort of reflex. I simply stared at him.

"Wiress, about last night…"

"…I'm not sorry."

"Good."

That caught me off guard. I must have been looking at him queerly, for he immediately elaborated.

"I know the angle you're going to play at your interview tonight," he said with confidence.

"Angle? Shouldn't I just be myself?" I asked softly. Beetee nodded.

"These interviews are your last chance to get the sponsors you'll need for survival. Your score was higher than the average, so that should help. You Tribute's Parade entrance will help you massively. You're current odds of winning, as settled by the bookies, are 22-1. That's actually decent for a non-Career. But tonight, we'll try to push them over the edge in your favor."

"How?" Beetee put his hand on my back and beckoned me to sit with him while he explained.

"We are going to make you passionate. We are going to let you use your words to inspire and intimidate. Use your speech to charm the Capitol so that they will feel compelled to help you win."

"I still don't follow."

Beetee shrugged. "What made you lose your temper with Plume last night?"

I thought a moment. "She is a dim-witted, clueless, no-nothing who is making merry of teenagers being forced to die slowly in front of a thousand cameras."

"So is everyone in the Capitol, I'm afraid," Beetee muttered.

"I…I wanted her to know the truth."

Then it hit me, and I knew exactly what my mentor was hinting at. He wanted me to portray a strong, courageous woman who was both blunt and sensitive to the precariousness of her place. Someone who would speak her mind without a filter.

"But, what if I say something that will…piss them off?"

Beetee edged close to me until his leg pressed mine. Then he went to wrap his arm around me, but stopped himself. "Understand something, and don't take this the wrong way. The Capitol…the Capitol sees Tributes a certain way. Like we're animals. They won't take what we say seriously no matter what it is. If you speak your mind, show off your intelligence and your sparky personality, they will have a lasting impression of you. An impression, hopefully, they will want to invest in to see more of."

I frowned and stood up.

"What is it, Wiress?"

"I don't stand out, Beetee."

I turned around. He was still sitting. I paced back and forth while I let my words spill out, releasing some of the ample stores of stress inflating inside of me.

"I'm plain and ordinary. I read books for fun. At home, I had no friends, not even in school. The only socializing I did was with my brother, who only humored me because he felt protective of me. During my summer breaks I read in my Daddy's office while he filled cavities and performed root canals. I've never kissed anyone, nor have I learned how to make boys fall in love with me. In fact, sometimes it's hard enough to look people in the eye, let alone talk to them! Now I'm supposed to make a million Capitol sponsors see me as worth their money and help, all while fighting off eighteen-year-old gladiators who learned to throw a spear before they could walk! Oh Beetee, help me! Help me please!" I'd expelled all of my thoughts in a single breath, and I punctuated it by leaping impulsively into Beetee's arms. He received me as if he was expecting it.

"Shhh…Wiress…"

"Oh Beetee! I'm so scared! I'm going to die," I whispered in his ear.

He pushed my shoulders away so he could look me in the eye. "No. You aren't. I won't let you. If you tell the audience that tonight, neither will they."

Tears began pouring down my face.

"And now, let me tell you a secret," Beetee said, taking my hand and leading me back to where we sat. "I've known you for a while."

"How?" Beetee's eyes sparkled as he recalled a memory deep in his head.

"I'm a patient of your father's. I have been since before I was Reaped. I remember seeing you walk by with a large textbook cradled in your arms as you walked around a corner—"

"—I don't remember you," I said bluntly. Immediately, I regretted what I said. It sounded rude. But Beetee didn't bat an eye.

"I don't expect you to. But for some reason I remembered you. You wore your hair in pigtails back then. You always held your book so close to you as if it contained the secrets of life within. Wiress…why do you like words so much?"

I looked down and felt my cheeks go red. What Beetee was telling me was strange, but oddly comforting.

"Because everything changes, but a word's meaning is always the same," I said. "Books are the only thing the Capitol can't twist and warp to mean something else. When a word is written on a page, it's there for me forever. Even if the book gets lost or destroyed, I can call that word back in my head and it's still imprinted there for me."

Suddenly, an announcement came over the loudspeaker.

_"All Tributes please report to the cafeteria for lunch. All Mentors please return to your floors."_

I looked at Beetee, who got to his feet and extended a hand to me. I took it and let him help me up.

"I probably won't see you before the interview tonight," he said. "But if I have anything else to tell you I will relay it to Aloysius."

"Okay."

I began walking towards the door, still weepy but feeling a bit more stable. I knew I'd need a moment to collect myself before entering the cafeteria.

"Wiress?"

I turned back at the sound of my name.

Beetee had his hands in his pockets. "Show the world how much you love words tonight."

I smiled. "I will, Beetee. I will."

* * *

><p>I could hear Dionysius Flickerman's theme begin to blare over the loudspeaker as Aloysius dressed me backstage. At home, I rarely, if ever, tuned in to Flickerman's evening show. Mostly it was Capitol gossip that meant nothing to District citizens. Even during Hunger Games season I'd often fall asleep during the interviews and exposition he'd air. Flickerman was truly a man who loved to hear the sound of his own voice.<p>

"You're finished! And just in time," Aloysius said, grinning and guiding me to the mirror.

The refined, beautiful woman who stared back at me couldn't have possibly been me. I'd never even met her before. She wore a tight, sexy silver dress made of the same luminescent cloth I'd worn at the parade. It reached to the floor but was slit high up the thigh, where a red flower shining bright as a light bulb closed it right before it gave too much away. It was strapless, showing off the lady's bosom. Her hair shone, twisted up into a high knot, pinned with a matching red blossom that glowed as brightly as the one on the hip of the dress. This lady had curves. Curves I'd never seen before.

And when I gasped, she gasped in tandem.

Aloysius beamed. "You're beautiful. You shine, Wiress."

I turned to him and sighed, nodding.

_"All Tributes report to stage left wing. All Tributes to the left wing."_

"Now go show Panem that you shine," my stylist said, bidding me farewell by blowing a kiss.

I was one of the last tributes to arrive in the wing. I looked for Intel among the rest. Lustra from District One looked like a model on a magazine cover in a sheer black dress that barely covered her. The twins from District 2 looked intimidating in very solid, heavy dress that was reminiscent of Roman battle armor.

I caught sight of Tatsuya, his lush black hair swept back and tied into a ponytail, his fit body filling out a sleek blue tuxedo. His District partner, Alesta, wore an A-line tulle dress in a matching shade. Tatsuya was such a beautiful sight. When he met my gaze, he looked me over once before mouthing a single word to me.

_"Stunning."_

I looked down shyly and moved on. I finally found Intel, whose suit matched mine (it even had a glowing red flower in the lapel of his blazer). His suit wasn't as form-fitting as my dress was, however. Despite his chubby frame, he looked small and lost in it.

The next few minutes were a complete blur. The Career Tributes were intimidating, sure of themselves, and charismatic, which was typical. I, on the other hand, had lost upwards of ten pounds through sweat alone waiting for my turn on stage.

A stagehand tapped my shoulder as I began to lose myself in fear. "You're up."

Startled, I gasped and nodded with silence. As I followed him, I saw Beetee out of the corner of my eye, smiling gently.

I couldn't believe the revelation he'd given me today. He'd known me for years? Or, rather, he FELT he'd known me for years after catching glimpses of me from my father's dental chair? Not only that, he remembered me? Why? A standard run-of-the-mill little girl holding a book and darting around corners like a shadow? It really wasn't much to remember.

Meanwhile, Dionysius was introducing me:

"She's surprised us with her fashion sense and her good training score. Our little friend from District 3, Wiress Ohmstead!"

The music and applause started, and that was my cue. It took a rather forceful push from the stagehand to get me out there.

The applause and music was enough to drown my senses in a hellish nightmare. I walked like a drunkard to shake Dionysius' hand. People were 'aww'ing at my dress. The lights were in my eyes. My feet were stepping insecurely in four-inch heels. Makeup was getting into my eyes, making them sting.

"So much for a 'little' friend,' he said, gesturing for me to sit. I couldn't process what he was referring to, so I just did what he told me.

"Now, Ms. Wiress, let me begin with the standard question: How are you enjoying our fair Capitol so far?"

Fifteen different thoughts, answers, and tidbits ran through my head. None of them came out of my mouth.

"Colors….so many colors!" I gasped, looking around the audience. From what I was able to see, people were dressed in colors that I couldn't have imagined existed in nature. Neons, jewel tones, pastels, reds, purples, patterns! "So many more colors than at home!"

The audience broke into a laugh, as did Dionysius.

"Is it grey at home for you?"

By this point, I was able to get my bearings a little more, though my heart was still beating so fast, it was humming against my breast. I nodded.

"It's like an old photo," I said. "Stone and grey, black and sidewalk."

Another pause for laughter. What the hell was so funny with these people?

"Now, tomorrow is your big day. Obviously, you'll be entering the arena hoping to win, but are there any other goals or hopes you want to realize while you're there?" Dionysius asked with his plastic, feigned interest.

This question upset me. Big day? Hopes to achieve while in a king-sized death match against my peers? What was this, the Hunger Games or my first day of school? At lightning speed, the rage welled up within me, quelled only by Beetee's words about letting them know who I was, and telling them what they wanted to know…and to make myself look worthy of sponsorship.

Dionysius was waiting impatiently for my answer (after all, I only had three minutes). "Wiress?"

I swallowed and bravely looked him dead in the eye. For once, it didn't make me nervous. It made me angry. They wanted a show? They were going to get the best damn show I could give.

"At home, I was nobody. I still am nobody. I have no friendsa in District 3. But tomorrow I'm going to show everyone exactly what I am made of."

Dionysius raised a green eyebrow. "And what is that, dear?"

"An inner strength no one knows but me. I am smart, quick, and resourceful. I have the power inside me to show you all who Wiress Ohmstead is. I can shine, and I can make you all see it! Don't underestimate me, because I know better than you all! You all don't know who I am, and you don't know what I can do! By the time I'm done, you'll all—"

I cut myself off, because the steady roar of applause had grown too loud for me to hear my own voice. Dionysius was grinning from ear-to-ear.

"The passion! The courage! The strength! Do not underestimate Wiress Ohmstead! She will shine for us!" he cried out. "It appears you've just made more friends than you could ever want now!"

The audience applauded and cheered for me. It began to sink in just then…

…they liked me.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beetee's Journal<em>**

**_Night Before the Games Begin_**

_I won't be getting any sleep tonight, and I know it well. I fear for my charges. Even I have to admit Intel probably won't make it very far. But Wiress-_

_-she was perfect tonight. Beautiful, and perfect. _


	6. Chapter VI: The Gong Sounds

I didn't expect to sleep that night at all, so I didn't even try to. Beetee told us (after congratulating me on my successful interview) that, if nothing else, tonight was a night to empty our minds, relax, and pretend that tomorrow wouldn't bring about the beginning of the end. Plume offered to retrieve some Capitol sleeping drugs, but Intel and I both refused, as per our District 3 upbringing that taught us drugs unnecessary for recovery from illness or injury are not worth the side effects.

The Capitol itself was celebrating the official beginning of the 44th Annual Hunger Games en force. The streets below us were illuminated in every possible color I could imagine. Billboards that showed our faces were blinking back and forth between most of the buildings. People crowded bookies offices, I was sure, placing their first bets. The streets were packed as if riots were occurring. To some it looked like a wild party, but it frightened me more than excited me. Not to mention, these people would be the ones cheering when I died, my blood spilling on the ground as someone (probably a Career) stood over me in triumph. Only three people in Panem would mourn me.

I sat against a window in the common room in my signature fetal position, watching the night progress. The lights only got brighter and the shouts only got stronger as the hour drew later and later. My mind did anything but empty itself. Instead, it filled me with fear and regret. I feared how I would die. Would it be slow and painful? Would I be killed or die of starvation? Would it be quiet and dignified or humiliating and agonizing?

I regretted not kissing a boy. I regretted not making friends. I regretted never living or even trying to live outside of the books I read. I regretted not being normal. I even regretted not getting closer emotionally to my mother and brother. But, more than that, I regretted not being strong enough to have a chance, so my father wouldn't suffer my death so, as I knew he would.

After the clock in the foyer chimed 1 o'clock in the morning, and I began humming 'Hickory Dickory Dock,' Intel appeared, in pajamas, with tussled hair. At least he'd been trying to sleep.

"You too?" he asked. I shook my head.

"I never tried to sleep. I won't get any."

"Plume will be pissed off," Intel replied, taking a seat on the ottoman across from me. "It won't benefit us to be tired tomorrow."

"I don't think there's a thing in this world short of an act of God that could benefit us at this rate," I sighed. Intel raised an eyebrow.

"You believe in God?" he asked skeptically. I understood his apprehensiveness. Being theistic in Panem, while not illegal per se, was frowned upon. In District 3, it was the same as carrying a license to be utterly mocked by all.

"I don't think so. Back home, I would read old holy books from different religions from before Panem, some of them were very beautiful. They never answered my questions about the Universe, and most of them read like fairy stories," I recalled. "But…some of them were still—"

"—comforting?" Intel asked. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"You believe, then?"

Intel nodded. "It's a secret of mine. Even my family doesn't know. But I've believed in a God since I was about eight. It all started when I got my first kiss."

"You've been kissed?" I asked incredulously. Intel nodded.

"His name was Tes, short for Teslabohr."

Teslabohr? Yikes, what an old-fashioned name!

"Tes and I shared a kiss under the Hampton Bridge in the Inner City while waiting for a bus. Neither of us saw it coming, but it was enough to send these feelings running through me. Feelings that made me believe."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Intel sounded like any moment he was going to start reciting love poetry. Such recitations would be totally lost on me.

"I felt a shudder of light radiate down my spine and into my legs. I felt bliss. I felt, well, comfortable. The touch of his skin on mine as he ran his thumb over my knuckles…the smell of his breath…the feeling of the entire world melting away as we kissed. God was with me then," Intel said, deep in memory.

A shot of jealousy ran through me. Intel, who until now I saw as a sincere, but simple boy who was just as sheltered as I was. But no, he was actually ahead of me. He'd kissed someone and felt the emotion of it…yes, I was a little jealous.

"Anyway," he continued. "After the kiss we never spoke to each other again, but those beautiful feelings…how can they just be random events that happen or don't happen? I can't believe that love is just a chance occurrence. That is why I believe in God."

I shrugged, hiding my feelings. "I don't think the same God that made you feel that way would be the God that put you here right now."

Intel looked at me with a queer expression. "It's not about that. It's about faith. And honestly, when I die tomorrow, I will feel better if I hold that faith close."

"You might not—"

Intel shook his head, stopping me. "Wiress, you and I can't lie to ourselves. Maybe you have a chance, but I don't expect to make it more than a few hours tomorrow. I couldn't pick up and real skills in training. I didn't win any sponsors."

I felt a tear in the corner of my eye begin to form.

"The thing is," Intel continued. "I'm afraid, but not upset over it. And I'm going to try. But there are worse things than dying, even in the Games."

"What could be worse?" I asked, tucking my knees under my chin. Intel shrugged.

"Not living. Not loving. Living for eighty-five years as a Capitol drone in a filing room or a laboratory. Truth is, Wiress, life as a District 3 stereotype isn't for me. If I die tomorrow, I won't die a Capitol lemming like my parents. I'll still die as Intel Morgenstern. I will make sure of it, and that's all that matters to me."

In that moment, I utterly admired Intel. His words were the thoughts of a truly courageous man.

"I wish I thought like that. But for me, everything is so concrete. I know tomorrow I'll have one goal, to try and live."

Intel smiled. "I think that's why Beetee has invested so much faith in you. And why I think you can win this thing."

"You really think I could?" I asked hopefully. Intel nodded.

"He likes you, you know."

"Who?"

"Beetee."

I cocked my head. "What do you mean?"

"I know he's nineteen and you're fifteen, but I think Beetee has feelings for you. I've heard him talking about beautiful you were tonight."

I didn't know what to say. Maybe Intel was mistaken. He had to be. Mentors didn't fall in love with Tributes. It was a stupid idea, and Beetee wasn't stupid.

"Do you like him?" Intel asked.

"No," I said bluntly. "I mean, as a friend and Mentor, yes. But not romantically."

Intel nodded. "Sure." He was being sarcastic. "He'd make a nice husband. He'd be gentle, doting, and you know he'd take care of you."

I pouted.

Suddenly, my thoughts ran to Tatsuya. His gentle demeanor. His kindness. His beautiful face and shiny hair…

Intel suddenly got to his feet. "I think I'm going to take a bath in my room," he mused. "Wiress, if we don't see each other tomorrow…good luck."

I stood up to meet him. "Good luck to you too." Then Intel did something I didn't expect. He hugged me and kissed my cheek. His lips were warm.

"I'm glad you're my partner," I whispered. "If you make it past the bloodbath tomorrow…will you try to find me?"

He smiled. "Yes, of course. But…if I don't, I hear District 6 is a good pair to make allies with." He punctuated this with a wink. So he could tell that Tatsuya had caught my eye. Could others? Could Tatsuya himself see it? Did that make me vulnerable?

"But what about what Beetee said?"

The smile on Intel's face now carried a tone of mischief, and it make me giggle (did I ever giggle before then?). "Screw what he said. Sometimes an ally is a good thing to have."

I watched Intel close the door to his room behind him before I sat back down to watch the party in the streets below me rage on into the night.

* * *

><p>"You won't be wearing this in the arena. Once you arrive, you'll be taken underground and Aloysius will be there with what you will be wearing. It will be your first hint as to what you'll face."<p>

Beetee and I were walking out on the tarmac on the roof of the Training Center, where the hovercraft was waiting to take me to the arena. I was a little concerned when the Avox laid out a knee-length skirt for me, but Beetee's words made sense.

"When you're on the pedestal, don't hop off until the gong sounds. They surround each one with land mines so you don't get any head starts. Use the minute you're standing there to observe and learn as much about the arena as you can possibly take in. The Cornucopia will be very tempting, but unless you can outrun the Career pack, there's no point in even trying. Sometimes they scatter items of lesser value outside. Use your best judgment. Then, you will want to find a place with fresh, drinkable water. Worry about food later, water is essential. Also, if you find a good hiding place, don't stay within it longer than two days. Gamemakers love to drive people out of hiding with dangers like fire or gas."

Beetee's words might as well have been German. All of the loud noises of the landing pad, plus my own skyrocketing fears, were drowning out his advice.

"Wiress…you read a lot, yes?" he asked. After it took me an abnormally long time to process his question, I turned and looked him in the eye (awkward, as usual).

"I read everything."

"What about…pre-Panem classic literature? From the Late Americana Era?"

"Of course," I whisper. "But what does that have to do with…?"

Beetee winked at me. "I won't be there with you, but I'm going to try something…an idea I had last night. Keep a sharp eye out for sponsor gifts."

I nodded and looked towards the revving aircraft. It was time.

"Beetee, I—"

"—and always keep your eyes open. Even in the arena, there may be an exploitable mishap or flaw," he said. "It's time now. I'll see you in two weeks." In one move, Beetee then put his hand on my shoulders and drew me in, and he gently kissed me on the corner of my lip.

It was like someone had sent a bolt of lightning to my heart, stopping it short. I didn't see it coming. I had no time to process it. He had cool lips, but they were so soft that I could barely feel the contact they made with my skin. What made it even more confusing, was after Beetee kissed me, he turned and left me beneath the airship as if he needed to leave my presence as quickly as possible.

What WAS that?

* * *

><p>The hovercraft took about two hours to deliver us to the location of the arena, but, of course, none of us got to see it before being herded into individual suites beneath it to be dressed. Once dressed, we'd be sent up into the arena in tube-like elevators.<p>

Aloysius' presence actually comforted me slightly as I tried to keep my mind focused on my first strategy: surviving the inevitable bloodbath. He styled my hair into a high ponytail, simple, functional, but also making me appear older than I was with my usual pigtails.

As for my arena uniform, it was a pair of very stiff hiking boots, heavy pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a light parka in the same shade of violet our training tunics had been. The parka was not very thick, but it was definitely built for a cooler environment.

"The boots are very sturdy, so I would guess your terrain won't have much grass. Maybe it's even a gorge, a mountain summit, or a cliff side," Aloysius mused. "The parka confuses me a bit. It's unusually light. A parka at all would mean a cold arena, but it's so light it wouldn't help you in a tundra or a blizzard. Plus if it were a cold arena, they'd give you thermal underwear, it's a standard. But they didn't in this case."

I was just as confused. The outfit was very bottom-heavy. I felt like one of those clown-shaped punching dolls that was weighted on the bottom so it would never fall over.

_...never fall over…_

"It might be rough terrain," I suggested. "One where balance is key."

Aloysius shrugged as he put the finishing touches on my outfit for the Games. Every second that passed, things became progressively more real. It was almost time to die.

Thirty seconds.

I walked towards the tube that was going to send me up into the arena. Before the door closed behind me, I turned back to Aloysius.

"Thank you," I mumbled. He smiled and nodded back.

"Remember to shine," he replied. "Show them that you're worthy of victory."

I heard a popping sound as the door shut and locked behind me. Suddenly, I was going up. Up and into the arena.

_Get your bearings,_ I advised myself. _Know your environment. _

The tube was dark, and it seemed like an eternity passed as I was being sent upward. Miles and miles, it seemed. I braced myself as fifteen thousand thoughts went through my head every millisecond. The sweat was already forming on my brow.

I didn't expect the light to hit me so harshly. It made me realize how dimly-lit the basement of the arena had been. It wasn't even sunny.

In fact, it was raining when I emerged. Rather hard. At least finding drinkable water wasn't going to be a problem.

Twenty-four pedestals containing the twenty-four Tributes surrounded a large, rocky mound, atop of which was the Cornucopia. We would have to climb to get there. That was why we had hiking boots. My eyes darted around. Through the thick rain, I could see we were in a city…a city bombed to pieces. Some buildings still stood, but they were further back. The ground was covered in boulders, rocks, and broken glass. It was a good thing it was pouring…there would be no sources of fresh water to find anywhere. In spite of the rain, it was rather hot.

Around the rocky hill were scattered backpacks, small and inconsequential supplies, and some lumps of things I couldn't make out clearly.

A clock at the top of the Cornucopia began counting down from one minute. Each second was a full minute unto itself.

I looked around the circle of Tributes for Intel. I couldn't find him. On my immediate left was the girl from Two, Juno, looking poised and ready to pounce. On my right was the boy from Nine (his name I couldn't remember). He also seemed to be observing his surroundings, but with more outward and obvious fear.

Tatsuya was on the other side of Juno. Our eyes met for a moment, and I could have sworn he smiled and nodded at me. I got up the nerve to reciprocate with a small wave. Juno's head whipped towards me…did she think Tatsuya and I were allies and signaling to one another? Would she try and hunt me down with her twin brother first?

_ 25…24…23…22…_

I was going to run off into the arena.

_21…20…19…18…_

No. I was going to grab some supplies and get to a weapon. Surely they have a bostaff up there.

_17…16…15…14…13…12…_

No, run away.

_11…10…9…8…_

Oh god, this is it.

_7…6…5…4…_

I should try and grab something. Food might be hard to come by here.

_3…_

Run.

_2…_

Don't run.

_1…_

Go.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal <strong>_

_**Day One of the Games **_

_ Writing from one of the viewing parlors in the Training Center. Many of the Mentors end up camping out here until their Tributes fall. The elites and sponsors among the Capitol can view privately from here as well while hors d'oeuvres are constantly served. I still cannot understand how they can complain about the steak tartar while children are killing and dying on ten-foot screens above them. _

_ Flickerman has gone over the arena for the viewers. They are in the ruins of Seattle in the Pacific Northwest. It has been suggested that the Gamemakers are going to be 'experimenting' with some new artificial weather-making equipment. There will be no natural food or water sources available. _

_ Wiress is getting ready to emerge into the arena right now. My heart is with her right now. I hope my plan to send her messages will go unnoticed by the Gamemakers. _

_Technically, what I'm going to try is illegal. _


	7. Chapter VII: Faces in the Sky

It was as if my brain no longer functioned. I was on my feet and off my pedestal the instant the gong sounded the beginning of the Games. I let my legs mindlessly lead me to the base of the rock hill. It wasn't blood running through my veins as much as it was pure adrenaline.

Tributes brushed past me to go clambering up the hill, but I wasn't making a move towards the Cornucopia. Instead, I bent down and scooped up a large black knapsack that was lying on the ground about fifty feet from my starting position. I didn't even slow my pace to pick it up. I grabbed it, slung it over my shoulder as I kept running, and began turning away.

Juno, as well as several Tributes, were still making the difficult climb upward. Only two or three were doing what I was doing: scavenging at the base and hoping to run off before arrows and swords started flying. None of us would try and provoke one another. We were more concerned with ourselves. The payoff as far as 'loot' went would not be as high, but the more important payoff was worth anything…our survival.

Just as the first screams started ringing out from above, I began bolting away from the scene entirely. Another Tribute followed my lead, and we began to fan outward into the open arena. I made my way down an alley and over a wire fence to cut through a block of buildings and gain more distance. I was still letting my legs lead me as I ran further and further out with a large bag slung over my shoulder, and a smaller box (about the size of my mother's purse) in my left hand. I ran for what seemed like hours. I couldn't see shapes. All I saw were colors, blurred and bleeding into one another. I was running through an abstract painting, with no clue where I was going or if I was even making any progress forward.

Finally, my chest felt like it was about to implode or ignite, so I ducked behind a brick wall to rest. Despite the rain not letting up, I chose to take the rest to see what exactly I had grabbed. The knapsack, I soon discovered, contained three tins of fish, a small clip of matches, a sleeve of crackers, a large canteen, a pair of binoculars, and a switchblade. The blade was not serrated, but it was long and sharp, about the length of my hand from wrist to the tip of my index finger. It might've served me in combat, but as far as surviving, it wouldn't have much use.

In the smaller box was a folded sheet of plastic…a tarp. This would get some serious use if it kept raining like it was.

I quickly packed everything neatly so it would all fit in the knapsack. I left the box by the wall, and decided to keep going in the direction I'd been heading in the first place. I seemed alone, so I was safe, for now. I didn't run, but rather walked briskly. I did so for nearly an hour.

_ Maybe I could duck inside one of these buildings to get out of the rain…_

Suddenly, a cannon went off. My first instinct was to duck, before I remembered that the sound of a cannon meant a dead Tribute. I held my breath and counted each cannon blast, hoping none of them were for Intel or Tatsuya. This meant the bloodbath was over, the Careers had probably claimed the Cornucopia, and the Games were officially on…

…and I had officially outlived ten of my fellow Tributes.

Ten! Ten of us dead within the first hour and a half! It seemed terrible, until I recalled how, in Beetee's Game, the initial death toll had been sixteen. Supposedly, the record was eighteen dead after one day, leaving only six survivors to fight into day two. So, really, ten was a lower number. I was one of fourteen remaining Tributes.

A large part of me wanted to look for Intel, as we had promised one another to stick together if we both made it. But Intel could've been ANYWHERE in this arena. It wouldn't be practical, or safe, to hunt for him until I got a better look at the arena as a whole (which would be easy with binoculars).

I finally allowed myself to stop putting distance between myself and the Cornucopia, and slid into a four-story brick building that was in relatively good shape through a window. The place was littered with broken chairs, flipped tables, and strewed with dinnerware remnants. Clearly, this had once been an eatery. Perhaps the floors above had been apartments. It occurred to me that I could raid said apartments for any spare supplies. Immediately, I toured each floor, taking my time and avoiding windows.

Alas, the Gamemakers had been careful to remove anything that might've been useful as far as survival or weaponry. There wasn't even any hint of food in the kitchen behind the eatery counter. I found nothing but the shelter the building could provide.

The rain was letting up, and daylight was beginning to fade. I knew if I were to survey the arena, it would have to be now. I made my way onto the roof, crawled to the ledge, trying not to appear as a target to anyone who might be below, and took out my binoculars.

From what I was able to see, the arena was, in fact, a ruined city. Not a speck of green was visible. I could see the mound where the Cornucopia was placed on the very distant horizon. My position was, at my estimate, about two miles out. As one got further away from the center, the buildings got more and more stable and intact, but there were no skyscrapers. The clouds of the arena hung quite low over us.

In truth, I was rather fortunate to have one of the more standard urban arenas. Sometimes the Gamemakers got very creative, which proved difficult for some tributes to survive in. One year when I was very little, the arena was a treeless prairie with very few hiding spots or food sources. That arena held the record for the briefest Game to date: the Victor was determined in three days. Before I was born, during the 9th Games, the arena was waist-deep in salt water. The Victor was a fourteen year old girl from Four (of course) who, from what I saw in the Capitol, suffered psychologically and was entirely mute.

No, I was lucky. I grew up in a city. I knew how to navigate streets and listen for frayed powerlines. I was more likely to adapt faster and live longer than a wildling tribute who only knew countryside.

This arena wasn't even very 'special' considering what I'd seen of it thus far. No hidden caverns, no traps, trip wires, or nuclear hotspots as far as I saw. It did make me suspicious...this could indicate the Gamemakers planning some intense 'hazards' if things got boring. I would have to keep an eye out for such things.

I moved back inside when the rain began picking up again. The top floor of the tenement had one large suite as opposed to several small apartments, so I chose to stay there and lock the door. I thought it would be wise to stay by a window but not directly in the window, where I would be an easy target. However, I was compelled to stay near a place where I could see if Intel was passing by, so I could flag him down. The fact that only ten tributes were dead to begin with gave me some hope. The odds were somewhat in his favor, right?

Anyhow, I established a little lookout nook for myself by the west-facing window. Afterward, the rain stopped again, and twilight began to fall (yet still no sun, it seemed). I decided it was suppertime, and took out a few crackers and some dried meat I found tucked into a corner of the knapsack. The beef was surprisingly more salty than the saltines. I decided to only nibble on the jerky sparingly...salt dehydrated, and until I found a steady supply of water (perhaps in a water tower), I would have to be extremely careful. I did, however, swallow my better judgment and scoop some of the residue rainwater from the windowsill outside for a drink. It tasted normal, and I didn't react to anything in if it happened to be poisoned. I filled my canteen with any extra water I could syphon off of the gutters and other sills. As long as it wasn't acidic or poisonous, it would be my best hope for fresh water.

As I watched the night set in, I began to hear the Panem National Anthem play, as if over a loudspeaker. A clear spot in the cloud cover over the center of the sky formed, just big enough to fit the appearing projection that materialized. It was the National Seal with the subtitle "The Fallen." I held my breath. The death toll as of now. I didn't hear any additional cannons fire after the initial bloodbath victims, so I was ready to count ten of my peers. I knew this was one of their tricks...the purpose of these daily counts was to intimidate us and anger us.

It worked on me, because the first image that the screen projected was Intel's, subtitled 'District 3.' His portrait was deceptively proud, strong, and brave, It was almost comical. Of course, I didn't react with a laugh so much as a sudden onset of sobs. Intel knew he would die if he went to the bloodbath...why didn't he do what I did? Why didn't he avoid the danger and run?

I averted tears so I could read the other nine dead tributes. District Four and Five lost their females. District Seven lost both. District Ten lost both, Eleven lost it's male, and Twelve lost both.

After the Seal faded, the anthem ceased, and the clouds almost instantly reformed over the projection spot, I let it go. Intel, who believed in God, who believed that there was enough goodness to warrant such a faith, hadn't even had a chance to live. Slaughtered, probably by a Career (I would never know).  
>For a long time, probably upwards of two hours, I sat in the corner of the top floor of the building, underneath the window, and cried, rocking back and forth, Intel's last smile to me engraved into my retinas. His last joke. His suggestion that Beetee had romantic feelings for me. He was fourteen. His body had been scooped up by now by a hovercraft and was lying in the Capitol, being dressed by a coroner to be shipped home for burial. Intel. A human. A child.<br>No, a man. Intel was more of a man than I was a woman.

* * *

><p>Crying was a tiring activity, as evidenced by the fact that I'd passed out at some point during the first half of the night. The sound of heavy boots on stairs woke me with a jolt.<p>

Someone was here. No, two...

...from the sounds of the foot steps, four. Maybe five. And only one alliance could form so quickly in the Games.

Swiftly, I gathered my belongings into my knapsack and slung it over my back. I began tip-toeing to all of the windows, seeing if maybe there was a fire escape I could use. When I couldn't find one, I realized that I was trapped unless I could sneak out into the hallway and find a way to get to the ground floor without using the stairwell.

The footsteps came from below. I decided that planning my escape and getting a feel for what the Careers were doing here would be more beneficial to me than just running for my life. I sank to the floor by the front door to the apartment and leaned an ear to the ground. Most of the dialogue was muffled.

"...rain stopped..."  
>"...are there any beds?"<br>"Only ten...slow start...embarrassing..."  
>"sHH! Someone's in here...upstairs!"<p>

I sat up quickly. How could they have possibly heard me?!

Darting to my feet, I dashed into the hallway. I needed to leave, NOW.

Footsteps were already pounding up the stairwell. My head turned to the left of the landing, and there was an old elevator shaft...no doors, no carriage. Just the ropes and pulleys that would've made it operate once upon a time.

"Up here! Quick!" a deep, masculine voice bade his companions. I vaguely recognized the voice. It was Janus' voice, the male from District 2.

When I saw his head beginning to rise into my view, I stopped hesitating. Some things happen to quickly to need analyzation. I acted on a whim in that moment to save my own life.

I leapt into the elevator shaft. I was able to grab the rope with both hands and wrap my legs around it to begin sliding down.

"Hey, she jumped!" Janus hollered. "Hurry up, damnit! Get the machete!"

They were going to cut the rope and send me falling to my death.

I shimmied down until I made it to the second floor landing. My hands were burning and chafed. With a few good swings for momentum, I was able to hop onto the second floor.

"She made it to the second floor up! Juno! Sheen! Head her off! I think it's the girl from Three!"

Like the bloodbath twelve hours prior, the moments that followed are nearly impossible to recall with much accuracy. All I remember is jumping out of the second-floor window, feeling a terrible twinge in my ankle as I landed below, rolling, then shooting upward and running off like lightning into the night.

In spite of my semi-drowsy state, the adrenaline flow in my veins kept me running like a cheetah away...away...away from the Careers. If they pursued me, they didn't get too close, and I couldn't hear them chasing after me.

When the adrenaline finally wore off, I found myself (thankfully, alone) in an open square. An old stone fountain, dried up and covered in weeds, sat in the middle. A few wrought-iron park benches were scattered around it, some even overturned. I didn't like being out in the open, even in the dark. So I looked around for a hiding place. Something about my experience with the building back there made me hesitant against choosing another building to take shelter in. There were so many potential places for a Career or someone else with a sword to hide and snipe an unsuspecting person looking for a stable place to stay.

A two-story billboard stood beyond the fountain. It was only slghtly listed, and it was a three-sided piece. It would do for tonight, I felt.

Despite my hands still burning, I was able to climb up the metal pole and onto the iron grid that connected the three sides of the board. I would not be well sheltered if it began to rain again. However, I would be concealed, and if anyone were to come up after me, I would be able to hear them climbing up the pipe in time to leap down...the fall would only be about fifteen feet.

I leaned against one of the signs and took off my knapsack, fluffing it up as if it were a pillow and setting it beside me.

My ankle was throbbing (not broken but definitely sprained), and my hands were raw. My heart was beating a thousand times a minute, and I was still emotionally distraught over Intel's death. But, for the moment, I was safe enough to allow myself to lay on my side and drift off into a light sleep.

Just before my consciousness left me, a single cannon fired into the air from some distance away. I was one of thirteen left.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal<strong>_

_**Night 1 of 44th Games**_

_As of __1:07am__, Capitol Time, there are thirteen left. Intel was the third tribute to die at the Cornucopia. He didn't even appear to be in any hurry to survive. The Girl from One bludgeoned him with an aluminum bat. It was terrible to watch._

_Wiress was smarter...she made off with some rudimentary survival supplies and was able to hide. She was even able to elude a Career attack. As of now (presently__3:30am CT__) she is sleeping in a billboard in the southern quadrant of the arena. There aren't any tributes within nearly a mile of her, and no one appears to be on the move, so she will see the sun rise again. She's injured, but she doesn't seem too badly damaged._

_Tonight as I'm sitting here with the mentors of the surviving tributes holding vigil for them in silence, I think of her family back home in Three, keeping awake in this dark hour, eyes unblinking, focused on the constant Games updates and footage. Especially her father, the dentst with the gentle hand, who seemed to prefer his daughter to anyone else. How is Dr. Ohmstead tonight?_

_I hope I'm doing right by him by doing right by her._


	8. Chapter VIII: Going West

In my dreams there was smog, thick and toxic.

I was standing on the roof of my tenement, looking out into the yellowing city, or what little I could see of it through the industrial cloud. Breathing was like sucking in thick liquid through my nostrils. As I stood there on the precipice, I felt a familiar touch on my shoulder blade. I turned around to see it was Beetee, wearing the gilded diadem with which President Candida crowns the Victor of each Games. He wore a high-necked tuxedo, red bowtie, and a huge, warm smile. He took the diadem off of his own head and placed it on mine with ceremony, then took my hand in his and kissed it as if I were a queen. Suddenly, I was aware that I was in a long robe trimmed with ermine, underneath it dressed as one of the wives of Henry the VIII of England would be attired. After Beetee kissed me, he collapsed to the ground, and a cannon sounded.

The cannon was not a part of my dream. I jolted awake to its very real boom and sat up.

I was blind. Completely, utterly blind.

It seemed that the thick, smoggy air was not from my dream either. During the night, a fog had rolled in. It wasn't acid fog (or I'd have been dead quickly), but it cut off all ability to see beyond the tip of my nose. It was thick and hard to breathe through. However, it was gray as opposed to yellow, and I was not on the roof of my tenement back home.

I had nowhere to go and nothing to see, so the only choice I had at the present was to sit tight and arm myself in case I was ambushed (though, given my present location in the billboard, an ambush wasn't likely).

I was scared. The atmosphere carried with it this terrifying sense of foreboding. I felt vulnerable and lost. I began singing...

_ Hickory Dickory Dock__  
><em>_ The mouse ran up the clock..._

The melody and words transported me home again, at least in my mind. My coo-coo clock was on the wall beside my study desk. A textbook on British Royalty was open in front of me. I was wearing a skirt and turtleneck, light and practical. My hair was in two pigtails again...

_ ...clock strikes one__  
><em>_ and down he run...__  
><em>_** ...blink, blink, bling!**_

What the hell was that? I was jerked out of my meditation to an unfamiliar, artificial noise. A 'pinging' sound, like what I imagined the radar on a hovercraft's system sounded like as it approached a barrier.  
>It started off quiet, but got louder as it began getting closer. Was it...falling? The noise sounded as if it were coming at me from above...<p>

I gasped and carefully got to my feet. Another thirty seconds, and the source of the beeping landed in front of me, out of my limited view. I followed the sound, shuffling quietly until the toe of my boot lightly tapped a metal canister tied to a parachute.

A sponsor gift! Already?

Excited, I forgot myself for a moment as I reached down to rip the canister open. Perhaps it was something to help me see in this fog! Or food!

Inside the canister was a small, folded piece of paper, and a circular tool, about the size of my palm. I extracted the tool first. It was very plainly decorated, but the floating needle was a bright red, hovering between the letters marked 'N' and 'W.'

Why would sponsors send me a compass? What good would it do if I couldn't see where I was going?

The paper contained a message, brief and in typeface:  
><em><strong> "Take the advice of Horace Greenley. –BT"<strong>_

Horace Greenley? Horace Greenley...the name was vaguely familiar at best.

Beetee was doing something bold. His cryptic message was his attempt to help me. How? Would following the advice of one Horace Greenley lead me out of the fog? To somewhere safe? Away from impending danger?

"Help me, Beetee," I whispered, running through the many books and volumes of literature, history, and biography I'd read over time. I never read a biography on Horace Greenley. Maybe he had something to do with Beetee's hint before I took off for the arena. Readings from the Americana Era. Horace Greenley.

And why was this accompanied by a compass of all things? If Beetee had wanted me to find my way out of this terrifying fog, he would've given me a torch, a flashlight, or at least a fan!

I played with the compass in my hand. It was pretty, if not a little plain. Very solid. The lettering inside was a plain serif font. N. S. E. W. If my bearings were correct, going North would send me back to the Cornucopia, and it would be likely the Careers were staking out there, making use of the supplies. I couldn't go much further South from here, I was sure. If I was to go East, I'd be heading back towards the building where the Careers nearly got me last night. I had no desire to go back that way. If I were to go West—

—_Go West. Go West! Go West, Young Man! Horace Greenley!_

It suddenly came to me as if the compass has triggered some sort of sign. Horace Greenely was a figure from the Americana Era who promoted the expansion of the country of America westward. He'd coined a famous term: "Go West, young man," to try and encourage new settlers. It was a special topic from a history book I'd read years ago.

That had to be it. Beetee was instructing me to head to the Western sector. Maybe the fog wasn't spreading out that far. If that was what Beetee was trying to do...he was risking a lot. Mentors cannot give hints once tributes are inside the arena. That's why only stylists are allowed near us while we wait below.

I packed my knapsack and only went out into the fog once I gathered the nerve. It occured to me once I had my feet firmly on the ground that even if I were walking in an open field, no one, not even a Career with 20/20 eyesight, could spot me until he was within ten feet. Yes, I was vulnerable out here, but so was everyone else venturing out. Just the same, I tucked the jacknife into a belt loop in my pants for easy access in case I had to defend myself.

Not that I would have known what to do should such an occasion arise.

I took every step slow and steady, trying my best not to make too much of a footstep sound, or to leave a path in my wake. I listened sharply for any indication of nearby movement, but all was quiet. Such a cautious gait took a long time to cover any significant ground. I may have covered two miles in the span of two hours.

The fog began to thin out but only a little. My visibility increased from ten feet in front of me to maybe twenty. How far West was I supposed to go? At this rate, I would reach the edge of the arena before leaving the fog behind at all.

I began to find some comfort in the silence until the sound of running boot steps began clumping along at a moderate pace some distance behind me. Someone nearby was running. I stopped in my tracks in an attempt to listen. They were heading for me. Someone was running in my direction.

I couldn't see where I was enough to determine if there was any hiding space. Maybe I had no choice but to run out of his or her path first. Whatever choices I had, I chose to run.

Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, it was my last defense. The foot steps were lost in the mix with mine as I made a dash due West through the mist. I tried looking around as I ran, but that only threw me off balance.

Suddenly-THUD.

I hit the other runner dead on, and we both fell to the ground with an 'Ugh!"

My face was staring down into the pavement. My hands had fallen on some bits of broken glass, making my hand bleed. Now I was prone to infection as well. But I thought of none of this. Before I could even flip onto my back to see who my adversary was, two beautiful brown eyes and a kind voice met me.

"Wiress! Oh thank God it's you! I've been trying to find you!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing and seeing. It was Tatsuya.

* * *

><p>Not much was said between us at first. Tatsuya helped me to my feet and took my hand in his. Then, he proceeded to guide me towards the West at a slow but still considerable pace. Neither of us spoke. Rather, we acted like shadows on a wall, creeping silently through the fog until it began clearing even further. Within twenty minutes of this, the fog was nearly gone. Beetee's hint was right. The West was clear, even sunny. It was noticably humid as well. It wasn't long before sweat began pouring down my face.<p>

"We should find a shelter, but not in a large building," Tatsuya said. "Let me know if you see-"

"-there!" I piped in, pointing to the left. Tatsuya immediately smiled. I had spotted a toll booth for a private parking lot. It would be a tight fit, but it would be better than hiding in a large building like I had found out before.

"Careers and others will scout out big buildings one by one, picking off weaker players," Tatsuya explained. "I...I saw them this morning before the fog rolled into the North quadrant. They searched an old mini-mart and chased down the boy from Nine. They sliced his head off with a katana."

"Oh no," I mumbled.

Tatsuya and I climbed into the toll booth and made ourselves comfortable on the floor. There was a coziness to it, and the booth was in a shadow, so the sun wasn't beating down on us so hard. Somehow, Tatsuya had acquired a hatchet from the Cornucopia, and was using it to bolt the door shut by jamming the handle. I took out some of my saltines and shared with him. It was a meager meal, but better than nothing.

"So, you were looking for me?" I asked, having been curious about that for a while. "Why?"

Tatsuya thought a moment before answering. I could tell he was just looking for something smooth to say.

"Because I trust you," He said.

"Trust me? Why?"

"In the Training Center, you didn't want to learn about weapons as much as survival skills. That showed me that you're concerned about living, not winning."

"So you'll kill me later, then?" I asked hesitantly. Tatsuya smiled and shook his head.

"I just feel comfortable knowing you won't necessarily kill me in my sleep!"

Admittedly, my heart sank a little. I was hoping he was searching for me because he had feelings for me.

He took my cut hands and studied them for a bit. He sighed. "Be careful, you could get an infection, and in here you'd die of sepsis."

I nodded. "I know. I'm not dumb, you know."

"On the contrary," he added. "I had the impression that you were just the opposite."

I must have blushed, because after a moment he winked at me gently.

That afternoon, there were no cannons. The day got quite hot, hotter than I'd ever experienced in my life, and it quickly got uncomfortable in the toll booth. Tatsuya provided a decent distraction, however, by telling me a bit about what his home in District Six was like.

District Six wasn't as city-based as Three, but it did have a lot of hangars and large factories. Six's industry was transportation, so much of the work and culture was based around hovercrafts, trains, and subway cars. Tatsuya's parents were both riveters in a hovercraft plant. Like Three, he said that Six was very practical with its' culture. Not much in the way of fluffy parties or celebrations. Though, unlike in Three, Tatsuya said people had a habit of marrying and having families quite young. The life expectancy was lower than the Panem average due to asbestos flooding the factories, giving workers various cancers. According to Tatsuya, there were very few non-industrial jobs available. There weren't even grocery stores! Every Friday, Tatsuya's parentds came home with their meager paychecks and a sack of food that was expected to last the family until the following weekend. But one thing Six was known for, and accurately known for at that, was the black market industry. Six has the highest concentration of morphling addicts in Panem. There usually was a large crackdown on drug markets once a year, but that hardly controlled the problem. The drugs were floating around because of the pain that came with the extremely high rates of cancer.

Tatsuya said that his mother had early stages of the disease in her throat and lungs, but she refused to take morphling. He expressed pride in her for that, saying that she is bent on being a good woman until the end. I commented that it sounded like she would've been good friends with my father.

"Wiress, I need your help," he said sometime after sunset. "You aren't the only one I'm trying to find."

"Who else?"

"My District partner. Her name's Alesta. Believe it or not, she was my neighbor back home, and I promised her folks I'd see to her safety. I want to make good on my word."

I thought of Intel and how I would've asked Tatsuya for the same favor if Intel had survived the first day. It didn't take me long to nod.

"Do you have any idea where she might be?" I asked. Tatsuya sighed.

"If she's still kicking, she'll be near the East side. We planned the night before that we would join one another at the Easternmost part of the arena. But the fog threw me off course and I ended up way over here."

"That's all the way across the arena! We're in the West! It could take two or three days to get over there without being spotted or killed!" I said quickly.

Tatsuya shook his head. "Not if this city had a subway system."

Oh, of course the tribute from Six would think about a transportation system as a solution.

"But the trains won't even be running if they're even still down there."

Tatsuya took my hands in his. "Dear Wiress, even so, the tunnels will be a quick and easy route to the East. We could probably make it there in about a day and night. The Careers are killers, but they're not always the smartest around. Subway tunnels in a city arena wouldn't occur to them, likely."

"It will be dark!" I protested.

"We made it through the fog together, didn't we?"

_Yes we did, Tatsuya. _

"Do you have…I mean…are you in love with her? Alesta?" I asked meekly, looking down at my feet.

Tatsuya reached over and touched my cheek with a tenderness that melted me.

"Wiress, you're intelligent. I should think you would have realized by now that I've been in love with you since the first day of training."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Beetee's Journal<em>**

**_Day 2 of 44th Games_**

_I haven't slept in some time. In the private viewing lounge there are daybeds with curtains for the Mentors when action ebbs during the Games, and when something flares up, they can be quickly notified for reaction shots and interviews. But I have yet to take advantage of the daybeds. Even as she slept last night, I stayed wide awake to watch over her. Although last night, I had a mission. _

_The Gamemakers have thrown the first hazard at the tributes in the form of a blinding fog. I arranged to have a compass and a 'discreet tip' sent to Wiress via parachute to bring her out of the danger. It wasn't entirely hard to find the sponsors for it. I don't think I will have trouble sending her a few more helpful hints with some food down the road. She's a clever young woman…she figured it out within a few minutes. _

_But I have more to worry about now than messages and parachutes. _

_She has an ally. _


	9. Chapter IX: Nothing Gold

...in love?

Impossible.

Tatsuya didn't even know me. We'd only spoken, what, three times? Love is a man-made emotion stemming from a lengthy amount of time getting to know your partner and finding your lust is equal to the trust and desire for companionship from said partner. There was no way Tatsuya could analyze our relationship to one another that quickly, in particular under the 'special' circumstances we faced, and come to the very deep conclusion that he loved me. I couldn't buy it.

The word thrown around back home in Three when this sort of thing arose between tributes was 'show-mancing.' Sometimes, tributes who had a certain degree of charismatic attraction between one another would pretend to love one another to attract sponsors. Was Tatsuya doing this now? There was no other explanation. He couldn't possibly have been in love with me. He was show-mancing me.

For as much as I didn't want to indulge him in his plot to use me, I realized that, perhaps, this would be the smart thing to do for now. I could stay on guard well enough...even help him search for Alesta. But I had to keep my head on my shoulders. Tatsuya was kind, gentle, and handsome. But he probably

wanted to live as much as I did. I could take no chances.

My heart was locked, I determined. I was going to play along.

This would prove difficult. I was highly intelligent, but one thing I couldn't do was lie or act. All I could do was the best I could.

"You...love me?" I asked, doing my best to sound genuinely flattered. Tatsuya smiled and nodded.

"You're so much different than the other girls I know. You're not afraid to be yourself. To be smart. To admit you need to learn new things and ask for help. And you're quite pretty," he confessed.

Ha! Calling me 'pretty' was taking it a step over the line. How could the Capitol possibly suspend disbelief over a line like that?!

Nevertheless, I did what I read many women do when complemented. I cast my eyes down and smiled.

"Not me," I whispered.

"Don't sell yourself short," Tatsuya replied. "Your boyfriend back home is very lucky."

A classic move from what I heard. I knew what to say. "I have no boyfriend."

I had to admit, if I was supposed to lie to all of Panem and tell them I was in a romantic affair, Tatsuya was the absolute best person to do it with. SO handsome and generous by nature, I felt. And maybe I did like him a fair bit. And maybe I did have the longing to kiss him and have him touch me. Just a little. Maybe that would be enough to allow me to be convincing.

"Tatsuya..." I whispered pleasurably. He smiled and gestured for me to come into his arms, which I did enthusiastically.

"We should discuss how we're going to head East..." I began to mumble as I settled into his arms, but I felt him lie a finger on my lip, silencing me.

"Let's wait until tomorrow," he said softly.

A few minutes later, the nightly Fallen Report began playing in the sky. The boy Tatsuya witnessed that morning flashed. The one who died after the previous night's report was the girl from Eleven. That was all.

Something strange happened as soon as the report ended. It had been rather hot and humid all day and night up to that point. But over the course of the next fifteen or so minutes, there was a very sharp temperature drop...so sharp it had to be about forty degrees. After that, the temperature continued to decrease until it was cold enough to see my breath.

Tatsuya and I took off our parkas and made a shared blanket out of them. I then threw my tarp over us so our shared body heat could keep us warm.

"I have the feeling this arena has a theme," Tatsuya muttered. I nodded as I leaned my head on his soft shoulder (he made an excellent pillow).

"Maybe we will need snowshoes tomorrow," I suggested. Tatsuya chuckled and ran his finger over my cheek.

* * *

><p>Little did I know how right I was.<p>

The next morning, Tatsuya and I awoke to being all but completely buried in snow inside our little tollbooth sanctuary. The tarp and parkas helped keep ourselves from getting hypothermia, but the booth was still cold, and I was still rather chilled.

"How strange," Tatsuya muttered. "Well, the Gamemakers will have a lot of fun trying to locate us while we're buried here."

"Maybe we'll freeze to death here," I suggested with fear. Tatsuya shook his head.

"That would be too boring," he said. "I bet this will last as long as the heat and fog did."

Nevertheless, we decided to put off our search for Alesta until it passed. After all, we'd have a hard time finding a possible entrance to the tunnels (if they existed) in ten-feet-deep snow and ice. Instead, we spent the day discussing our strategy for feeling our way through the pitch-black tunnels and making sure we were heading in the right direction.

It was a slow day. We heard no cannons at all. This was a good sign...it meant the snow would be gone soon. The Gamemakers wanted action, not hiding tributes. Even the Careers were probably at a loss for how to work in these conditions.

A little after noon (I estimated) a parachute landed on top of the tollbooth. Tatsuya willingly stepped outside, took a brief look around to observe, and brought the canister inside before we lost too much of the precious heat we trapped in the booth.

"The snow is fresh water. Before it goes away we should bring some in to melt and store for later," he suggested.

We opened the can to find a decent-sized pot of lamb stew, steaming hot. There was easily enough for both of us to fill up on it. It also looked very hearty, thick with vegetables, meat, and dried plums.

"It's from Odette, my Mentor," Tatsuya said, reading the accompanying message. _**"To share. Eat up and stay warm. -Odette."**_

Indeed, the stew came with two spoons. I grinned. A real meal! A hot meal! A rich meal!

We shared the stew as Odette suggested. It smelled and tasted absolutely delicious. Between the two of us, we finished the pot off, our stomachs as close to full as possible. The food warmed us from the inside.

The Fallen Report didn't appear at all that night. No one had died. There were still twelve of us.

"Maybe tomorrow we'll begin looking for Alesta," I mumbled as we settled down again. "She's alive tonight."

"I would be just as happy if I could stay in here the rest of the Games with you, Wiress," Tatsuya replied.

Something about the way Tatsuya said it seemed...completely sincere. I didn't expect it to. As I dozed off that night, after that full day in my own little oasis with him, I had to re-convince myself that it was all an act to get us things like lamb stew.

I wasn't sure if it was reality or part of my dream that night, but I swear he kissed my eyebrow and muttered, "Goodnight, my Wiress."

* * *

><p>They saying goes, "Nothing gold can stay." The day before, with Tatsuya and I in our own little snowbound paradise, was gone. We were both jerked back to reality by the sound to not one, but two cannons going off.<p>

Tatsuya shot me a worried look. I knew what...or who, rather...he was thinking of in that moment. I shook my head and patted his tan cheek. Smiling with reassurance, he took my hand off his cheek and kissed it.

My blushing was real.

As Tatsuya and I had predicted, the snow was gone. The temperature was moderated once again. We packed our supplies and decided to begin searching for an entrance to the subway tunnel that would hopefully lead us to Alesta.

What we didn't expect when we opened the door was the gush of water that splashed in and up to our knees. I even let out a little scream of fright. Tatsuya grabbed my elbow and held me steady as we waded out into the flood before us.

"Is this because of the melted snow?" Tatsuya asked. I shrugged.

"I learn everything from books. Improvising in conditions like this isn't my strong suit," I reply begrudgingly. Weather, actually, was one of the few subjects I avoided studying. There is at least one subject that bores everyone, and weather was one of those for me. Three had its' share of odd weather patterns, but nothing more extreme than the occasional severe thunderstorm. But the activities of the sky…never triggered my fancy. I was always obliged to accept weather for what it was and to move on to a topic that attracted my attention.

"Let's follow the current," Tatsuya suggested, taking my hand. "Water flows down. Maybe we'll find the tunnels this way."

"But what if the tunnels are all flooded?" I suggest.

"What other choice do we have?" he retorts.

"We could find another way to sneak eastward," I answer as we wade. "I don't like the idea of drowning in a tunnel."

Tatsuya stopped and turned to face me. He swiftly leaned down to kiss my brow. "If the tunnels look submerged or flooded, we will take shelter and brainstorm again tonight, ok? Don't worry."

My calves were tight and exhausted as the time passed, following the flow of water. Walking through it was difficult and draining, even with Tatsuya beside me. However, towards noon, the water began to ebb, and things got less difficult for us. It took us until well into the afternoon to find a staircase leading down into the underground, a crooked sign labeled 'Subway' beside it.

Because the water was drying up, it didn't appear to be flooded, but Tatsuya offered to descend first to check.

"I'll survey the tunnels first. If I'm not back in ten minutes, hide. Don't come after me," he instructed me. He looked a little apprehensive as he went down into the subway station. I ducked behind the railing and sat on a step, looking around me.

Looking up into the sky, I began thinking about Tatsuya's confession and the wonderful time we'd had together in the toll booth. I kept analyzing it over and over in my head, and still, nothing seemed artificial about his actions. Either he was being sincere, or a very good actor. Or, perhaps, he'd mislabeled his feelings. A sixteen-year-old boy is unlikely to know anything about true love. Perhaps he felt some sort of genuine affection, but his judgment was off.

Then I thought about Beetee, who undoubtedly was watching this 'love affair' unfold. How did he feel? Was he aware that I wasn't just letting myself go doe-eyed for a stranger? Was he nervous? Was he…jealous? And would said jealousy affect me getting any more gifts from sponsors? After all, it was his job to arrange the deliveries…

Then again, if Intel had been right, and he did have feelings for me, what more could Beetee have known about love than Tatsuya? Only three years older, and never even speculated to have been involved with anyone, male or female. Victors' lives are followed constantly after their Games. Even if Beetee had gotten a surprise erection in front of a potential love interest it would have been all over Dionysius Flickermans' gossip reports. No. Beetee's romantic history was about as empty as mine.

Both were very different from the other, but both seemed to bring out the same longing in me…the longing for security and companionship. At home, I had security but no companionship. Here in the arena, I had someone with me, but I was as far from safe as anyone in Panem could ever be.

Tatsuya came back up the stairs and signaled to me to follow him. Silently, I took his hand and let him guide me into the underground.

"I thought we were underground before we were launched," I mumbled as we started down. "Were we in the subway stations then?"

Tatsuya shook his head. "I don't think so."

"So then how is this tunnel even here?"

"Maybe those pre-launch stations were even deeper than this," was Tatsuya's reply.

At the bottom of the stairwell was a large, empty chamber, nearly completely black aside from the natural light sneaking in from the entrance. There was some water runoff on the floor, but it only made the floor slippery, not flooded or hard to walk through.

"It's clear but very, very dark," Tatsuya instructed as he led me through a row of turnstiles. "But I am going to make sure nothing happens to you…and to us."

"Darkness…pitch black…wonderful," I trembled. My hand found his and gripped it tightly.

It took a moment to find the right tunnel. Indeed, the very faint light still radiating from the entry was gone. It didn't occur to me first that it was quite easy to be ambushed down there, or raped and murdered by my own ally in a sudden change of mind made in the name of self-preservation.

No, what occurred to me first was that Beetee wouldn't be able to send me sponsor gifts and messages down there. He wouldn't even be able to see me down there.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal<strong>_

_**Day 4 of 44th Games**_

_Still no sleep. I've barely eaten either. _

_Wiress is going down into the subway tunnels with the Boy from Six. There are no cameras down there. We have to rely on the audio feeds the Gamemakers pick up from a microchip in the collar in her parka for information. _

_I haven't felt so much fear since my own Games. She's alone in the dark with someone she barely knows. _

_She's alone in the dark. _


	10. Chapter X: The Battle

Chills. Thick, dank air. Nothing guiding me forward but Tatsuya's touch. It went on like that for hours and hours. At some point, we even heard the Panem National Anthem play, announcing the The Fallen for the fourth day of the Games. We obviously couldn't see anything from where we were.

We stopped and rested every few hours, but after twenty minutes or so Tatsuya would drag me onward.

"Every minute could be a minute Alesta gets killed somehow," he reminded me, almost sounding obsessed. Part of me felt a pang of jealously for this Alesta.

My fear never subsided under those streets. Long hours just wandering east in pitch black uncertainty. My vision went hazy. My ears buzzed. I felt nauseated. I began to sway as I stepped, losing my balance. Tatsuya stopped and said something to me that I couldn't hear over the noisy hums. My mind retreated into itself...

...suddenly, I was home again!

I could see, feel, smell, hear District Three. I was wearing one of my modest dresses and carrying a textbook against my chest, walking down the hallways of Daddy's dental office. The hall smelled of mouthwash and toothpaste. It was a sterile smell, one that I was never fond of but gradually had gotten used to over the years of summers spent there. The fluroescent lights irritated my eyes, but it was a welcome brightness compared to the bleak tunnels of the Arena.

I turned a corner, and in front of me was a doorway with a sign mounted beside it: Exam Room B. The big red dental chair sat parallel to the doorframe. My Daddy wasn't in there. The only occupant of the room was the patient, lying backwards in the chair, the overhead lamp shining on his face. A young man...Beetee!

I was so happy to see him! It was as if I'd just been reassured I was no longer in the Arena fighting for my life. He did say he was Daddy's patient, after all. I sighed in overwhelming relief and threw my book aside, running into the room to the place beside him.

"Beetee! Oh God, Beetee! They're gone! The nightmare is gone!" I threw myself onto his lap, and he chuckled lightly as I curled up on top of him and let a river of tears out of my eyes. "Death, darkness, and so much pain! I was in the Arena! Oh, help me!"

Beetee wrapped his arms around me and held me close. He then offered to me the corner of the paper bib clipped around his neck to dry my eyes, but I refused. Instead, I took his hand in mine and guided it to my cheek, imploring him to wipe the tears away, which he did, moaning softly and comfortably to me.

"I am with you, but you should be on your own," he mumbled. "I am coaching you through this. You will come home if you heed my messages."

Sitting up on his lap, I told him I was confused. "What messages?"

"Leave the tunnel. Leave Tatsuya. He is not genuine. He is not faithful to you. His alliance is with Alesta. He wants you as his human shield," Beetee warned.

I shook my head. "No." I didn't believe what I was hearing. "Beetee, no!"

I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. Whipping my head around, I saw Intel, dressed in a white suit, looking at me and smiling his crooked smile.

"He's right, Wiress," he implored to me. "Beetee is protecting you. Tatsuya protects himself."

"But...we're alone...in the dark..."

"He won't kill you outright," Beetee said. "He is too weak for that. But he will not hesitate to sacrifice you to further his own life."

"Oh, Beetee, I can't go back!" I whined.

"Yes, Wiress. You will be home in Three with me very soon. I love you," Beetee said.

_I love you..._

"When you get home, tell my parents not to cry over me anymore. I felt little pain, and I'm feeling peaceful now. Will you tell them?" Intel asked. I nod my head in trembling silence, and suddenly the dental chair fell backward, Beetee and Intel disappearing. I tumbled over and began falling into the black...the light left, the darkness returned.

* * *

><p>I was jolted awake, cradled in Tatsuya's arms. He'd sat up against one of the tunnel walls to support my body.<p>

"Tat...Tatsu?" I whispered weakly. Tatsuya shook his head and whispered.

"You passed out, cold," he replied. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty," I said. "Hungry. Dizzy."

"You don't have a fever, so there is some good news," he said. "We will stop at the next station and get some rations out. It may even be daylight again."

"Let me try to walk-"

"-Oh no, Wiress. Please let me carry you. It won't be too far, and you're light as a feather to me," Tatsuya replied. Gently, he rose to his feet without even adjusting my position in his arms. Tenderly, I leaned against him and let him bear my weight, all while Beetee's words scrambled themselves in my head over and over. Be wary of Tatsuya, he had said. And also...that he...

It only took approximately half an hour before we came to the next station in the tunnel system.

"I...I can stand," I said firmly. Tatsuya conceded silently and put me on my feet. It took me a moment to regain my balance.

"I can see the light from here," he remarked. "Only about three-hundred feet from here, Wiress."

No sooner did those words leave his mouth than an ear-shattering scream echoed through the tunnel, coming from ahead of us. Someone was waiting for us at the stop...someone bad.

"Oh no," Tatsuya muttered. "You have a blade, right?"

I was suddenly too afraid to say anything. It was as if my vocal cords were paralyzed. All I could do was hum the affirmative, and I reached into my back pocket, where I had stashed the switch knife my pack provided. Tatsuya, in turn, reached into his own pocket, producing three smaller blades...throwing knives.

"Be prepared. We need to claim that space," he mumbled.

"Wait...can't we hide here where it will be safe?" I asked.

Tatsuya looked at me indignantly. "No. No. We need to defend ourselves. Show them we're a threat."

"No we don't! We can defend ourself by hiding!" I protested. I really did not want to go towards the screaming. That was like taking a bath in gasoline and walking towards a campfire. If my thoughts were correct, the odds of those down there being to least one Career preying on another Tribute were too high to mess with. Not to mention, I was still recovering from fainting...I'd be particularly vulnerable.

The screaming returned. "Oh God! No!"

Tatsuya skipped a breath. "Oh my God. It's Alesta, I know it."

He didn't even bother to wait for me reply this time. He began running down towards the light. I hesitated, realizing something.

Beetee, in my fever-dream, had told me to get away from him. This was my shot. I could linger, stay hidden and wait. I could run back the other way and wait it out, whatever was about to happen.

The screaming got louder...then cut off abruptly. Tatsuya was running at top speed towards the source of the screams. I was frozen where I stood, not being able to move either way.

"ALESTAAAAA!"

To this day, I don't know why I chose to run towards the scream, but I did. I didn't bolt as Tatsuya had, but I did rush as fast as I could without disorienting myself. I ran on the balls of my feet, as if it would help inhibit the sound of footsteps.

I stopped short of the opening to the station. Instead, I ducked under the platform, only peeking my head up to observe.

A headless, bleeding body lied strewn by the base of the stairwell leading up and outside. The body's head was covered in blood as well, and lied some distance away from the body. A tangle of dark brown hair covered the face. I ducked back beneath the platform and struggled not to retch. My legs shook as I worked to hold it down. Just the sight of the beheaded girl was almost enough to motivate me to call it quits and run off on my own.

Tatsuya was behind the body, struggling with one of two assailants. I recognized them both. The male Careers that remained, Janus Gorge and Sheen Rhodes, circled Tatsuya as he broke down over his district partner's body, like a pair of vultures. Janus' shirt was spattered with blood, and he held a katana in his hand. Sheen held a dagger.

"It was easy," Janus mocked. "Like ripping the head off a dandelion."

"Don't worry, she didn't feel it," Sheen added.

I knew Beetee would tell me to run and not care that Tatsuya was marked for death. But I was in no capacity to think rationally. I quietly climbed the platform and ducked behind a turnstile, clutching my knife. I went unnoticed, as both boys were concentrated on Tatsuya as they closed in on him. Sheen had his back to where I was hiding. I noted how he was a bit thin and peaky for a Career.

"Your turn, Sheen," Janus bade.

As Sheen raised his dagger to strike Tatsuya, I bolted out from behind the turnstile, a noise from my throat uttering high and loud...a screech. One even I didn't recognize. It was like I was possessed by someone else.

I leapt onto Sheen's back with my knife in my grip. I held it to his throat and leaned back. The element of surprise was what made him stagger and lean back.

Like at the Cornucopia five days prior, events after that moment became blurry as they rushed before me. That always happened when I let some animal instinct take over my body, letting my mind (by far the strongest part of me) fall by the wayside.

Sheen flailed, trying to get me off of his back. Somewhere in the struggle, Janus must have tried to get me, because I felt a sharp slashing pain across my right shoulder. I couldn't get my knife in position to stab him before he fell over backwards, falling onto a turnstile and crushing me under him as he landed. He rolled away, and I dived through the turnstile back by the track. Sheen followed, raising his dagger as he attacked. I was on my back at the edge of the platform. Frozen in fear, I couldn't move.

It looked hopeless. I squinted my eyes as I braced for death.

I heard a brief shout from in front of me. Opening my eyes, all I could see was Tatsuya's back turned to me. Sheen wasn't moving...had Tatsuya done something?

No, Sheen brushed Tatsuya aside...he fell like a dead tree trunk with a gaping wound in his stomach. The dagger in Sheen's grip was dripping with fresh blood.

I screamed, and Sheen kept advancing on me. But Tatsuya coming between us had given me a split second of time to re-establish my mind enough to position myself for defense. Sheen was lightweight...and easy to throw off balance.

As he came at me, I bucked. My feet flew up above me and caught Sheen's hips in his final lunge. I threw my feet up and used them to hurl him over the edge and down onto the track below. I barely managed to hang on to the platform, but somehow managed to.

"SHEEN!" Janus hollered from behind the row of turnstiles.

I looked down below me, and suddenly my head felt like it was swimming. Sheen didn't stir below. He'd landed on the crown of his head first, and he'd hit one of the rusted metal rails on the ground. His skull was gashed open, his neck bent at a dramatic angle. His eyes were wide and blank.

He'd died. I threw him off the platform in defense...and he died. Sheen Rhodes. District One. Career.

"FUCK!" Janus yelled, leaping over the turnstiles.

I rolled away in time, but Janus ran past where I had been anyways to see if Sheen had made it. Leaping down into the pit, he began to examine the body. I didn't have to think about why he wasn't acting like a real Career and using the moment to seek revenge on his ally by killing me with his katana. Meanwhile, I took the moment as a gift and got to my feet, making my way to where Tatsuya was writhing.

Suddenly, a low rumble began to echo from down the tunnel, and Janus looked up with an odd expression on his face.

Water, rushing at a rapid pace, flooded the tunnel and came at Janus and Sheen like a tsunami. Janus was brushed off his feet, and his struggle against the oncoming current was futile. I wasn't looking, but Janus was likely washed clean away with Sheen's body by the raging water.

I knew Tatsuya and I were going to be next if I didn't move him. I knew lifting a body was going to be impossible for me, but, with every ounce of might I could muster, I began inching him towards the steps leading up and out into the open air. I had to step over Alesta's limp body, and I heard a moan from the load I was carrying as we passed her. By the time I got Tatsuya to the stairwell, the water had overflown and was quickly rushing towards us. It was lapping at my feet.

Tatsuya's body was heavy (not to mention his clothes were water-logged) as I dragged him up the steps. The sounds of Janus and Sheen screaming, trying to fight off the rushing tide of floodwater were abruptly stopped. I couldn't hear very well, but I did sense the deep bass-like sound of two cannons firing, one after another.

Two less Tributes. Two Careers. If I survived today, my odds would probably double…if not triple.

Tatsuya moaned as I did my best to keep him still as I brought him up into the open air. I hoped there would be sun, but the stupid rain had come back, heavy. The Gamemakers were beginning to get obsessed with floods and water in this place.

I couldn't hold on to Tatsuya much longer, especially as the pain in my shoulder caught up with me. The adrenaline was still surging, but slowly wearing off. Once I was on stable ground, I let him lie on the pavement, his face sopping wet. The blood from the knife in his stomach spilled onto the ground and mixed with the puddles, creating an almost beautiful cloud-like effect.

He was gasping and panicking. So was I.

"Atta girl, Wiress," he whispered.

"I'm so, so sorry," I sighed. "I should have trusted you."

"No," he sighed. "You were being smart. I...I...just didn't know how much stronger than me you are. If I couldn't save Alesta...you're more than worth my life."

I shook my head. "No. We're all worth the same."

"I...I'm not. I lied to you about my feelings for you. To get you to come with me."

"Why?"

My suspicions were correct. This broke my heart, and the tears began to well up behind my eyes.

"How could you?" I asked.

"I didn't just target you. You fascinate me, Wiress. You're d...different," he said softly. "You have more strength in you than anyone else here. And you sense things...see things differently. Panem needs you still. You can create a whole new world if you win."

I shook my head. "But-"

"-sh!" He hushed me. "I don't have much longer to say this. Let me say it."

The rain was beginning to lighten up, but it was still coming down in sheets. It was becoming the kind of rain that pricked my cheeks like needles when the wind blew at it. I took my parka off and put it over Tatsuya's chest like a blanket (as if it was going to do much good).

"I do have feelings for you, Wiress. They just...just didn't get a chance to blossom," he said. "I'm sorry I used the word 'love.' It...it wasn't fair. But, I think you...you are beautiful. I just regret thinking so much of myself when I was with you."

My chest was about to implode. He couldn't be admitting this. Not now. Worse off, he had no reason to lie to me anymore. He really did like me.

"You couldn't help-"

"-kiss me, Wiress. Please. I betrayed you. Let my last act here be an act of love."

It was reflexive. I didn't hesitate for a moment after he requested my first kiss. I caressed his rapidly-cooling cheek with my overheated hand. I leaned down over him and touched his lips with mine, tenderly. He kissed back, and I could tell he was pooling the last of his energy into it. It was natural and instinctive. I began to put some passion into it.

My first kiss, forged in the aftermath of battle, for all of Panem to see.

I pulled away as Tatsuya began shaking. I grabbed his hand and held it to my face as I watched him expire without another word...just a smile. The smile froze on his face as he died.

I didn't let go of his hand as it became heavier in my grip. I bowed my head and did something I'd never done before and would never do again...I prayed. Silently, of course. I prayed that there was an afterlife that would receive Tatsuya's consciousness, whatever it was, and that it was peaceful, and that Alesta would be there to embrace him as he arrived. That Intel would be there to shake his hand. And that, perhaps, he would be able to protect me from up there.

The Gamemakers wouldn't pick up his body until I cleared the area. Well, tough on them. I was in no rush to get out of the rain.

I kept vigil over his body for nearly half an hour before I cleared out and left him behind.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal<strong>_

_**Day 5, 44th Games**_

_Wiress' odds are skyrocketing tonight. Two of the Careers are dead, one directly because of her attempts to defend herself. Four died, including her ally. Caesar's on-location reporting team is heading to Three tonight to interview her family, as they do with the Tributes who make it past the Top Ten._

_Her ally, the Boy from Six, saved her life. She kissed him as he died in her arms. I couldn't help but feel a sensation in my chest, as if my heart had been sucked inward, leaving a hollow space. It was a beautiful kiss, to be sure. Immediately after, sponsors began approaching me left and right, throwing vouchers and money at me to send her a gift. It's expensive at this stage to send elaborate gifts, but with the response I'm getting thanks to that kiss, I can send her a feast tonight. Any maybe some disguised aid as well, as long as I'm careful._

_Perhaps, if I'm smart in what I tell her next...I can bring her home._

_I must bring her home._

_I will bring her home. _


	11. Chapter XI: Beetee's Gift

_Hickory dickory dock  
>The dog barked at the clock<br>Clock struck four  
>He barked some more...<em>

The world was a running watercolor painting around me as I crouched in a fetal position that evening under a stoop in the northernmost sector of the Arena. The archway above me was barely keeping me dry as the rain kept falling, and now it was getting dark. I rocked myself back and forth to provide the only comfort I could give myself. My shoulder ached, but the ache was muscular. I wasn't bleeding out anymore. The sword had cut me deep, but not deep enough to warrant sutures. Now it just hurt to move.

I chanted frantically into the evening, covering my ears often so I could hear the rhyme above the rain. The world needed to go away. Just go away!

What had this world done to me? I held a dead body in my arms. I kissed a dying boy. I KILLED another boy.

Did I kill Sheen Rhodes? Or did he just not react fast enough to stop himself from breaking his neck? No, I pushed him off the platform as he staggered. I PUSHED. I KILLED. Daddy would be so ashamed. Beetee would be ashamed. I was losing myself. The Wiress Ohmstead from District Three would never even put herself in the situation where it would become necessary to murder. The Wiress from Three would've run back down the tunnel when she had the chance.

No. If I had run back down the tunnel, I would have been caught when the flood washed through, and probably drowned. I would've died.

But did that mean Sheen had to die in my place? Or Tatsuya?

Tatsuya...he'd taken the dagger for me. He died for me.

Pondering this, a headache began to sprout behind my eyes, perhaps partially from all of the hard, heavy sobbing I'd been doing. What exactly was he thinking? He'd said himself he was using me...he did not have to die for me.

My fault. It was all my fault.

I continued to rock back and forth and chant to myself, trying to travel back to District Three in my head. Nothing appeared this time. No Beetee. No Intel. Not even Daddy's office. I was stuck under the archway of that stoop, stuck in the Arena. All alone, ready to die.

_*Bling, bling, BLINK!*_

It was barely audible above the rainfall, but I could definitely hear the parachute falling in my direction. The parachute wasn't been tossed around by wind or water...Capitol technology helped it stay on course.

It landed on the bottom step of the stoop. As I reached into the storm to grab it, I almost felt like the water was warm, but I told myself it was my advanced state of distress playing with my perception. The rain wasn't warm.

I snatched the canister, greedily dragged it into my sanctuary, and popped it open. Inside, I was utterly amazed to find that Beetee had provided me with a small feast. The plain but filling square bread District Three was known for, a small bunch of grapes, a wedge of cheese, some dried beef, and...oddly...a small jar filled with something that didn't smell edible. It smelled pungent. It smelled...like lamp oil? Oil was such a rare item to own, let alone gift to someone. It didn't even have many practical uses anymore. Why would Beetee send me a jar of oil?

It hit me after a moment that I'd been given matches in my knapsack. Perhaps Beetee sent me oil so I could create a light to help me with whatever weather hazard came next from the Gamemakers. I sealed the jar and stashed it for the moment.

The note from Beetee was another riddle: _**"Find the prize in the haystack, and nearby you'll find haven. -BT"**_

Prize in a haystack? There was no book reference I could possibly derive from that!

For once, I was really in no mood to think or decipher Beetee's insipid riddles. Instead, I looked up at the top of the archway as if a hidden camera lurked in the shadows, and did the best I could to give a look that said, "Why? Just...why?" Beetee couldn't have just said, 'Go here.' And haven? In this nightmarish reality? Of all people, Beetee had to know that there was no such place.

I leaned back and chose to savor the food offering as a last meal. I ate every crumb of it, even though pigging out in such a manner was counter-intuitive to my survival. All I thought about was the inevitable manner of my death. Part of me wanted to go out in some sort of 'blaze of glory.' Another part didn't want to give the Capitol such morbid satisfaction, and instead perhaps I could expire bloodlessly. I could refuse to find food and water. Or even wait for whatever weather hazard the Gamemakers threw at us next.

Now that there were so few of us (and how many were still out there? Four? Maybe five?), the storms would probably get more and more lethal. Or they'd become isolated in an attempt to bring the finalists together for an endgame bloodbath. In all honesty, for as little as I knew and cared about weather, even I had to admit that all of the dramatic changes in the atmosphere (even one as artificial as the Arena) could cause something even the Gamemakers couldn't see coming, perhaps a lightning storm or a whirlwind. Maybe that was their flaw...one of the flaws Beetee obsessed over.

The Gamemakers were so concerned about the instant effects that they couldn't foresee a long term disaster of much more lethal proportions. A storm the magnitude of a severe whirlwind could easily kill every Tribute and leave no Victor. Then what would the Capitol look like? A Victor was vital to keep the Districts from seeing the Games as a simple method of mass execution and instigating riots.

In the sky that night, through the sheets of rain, I could see the faces of Sheen, Janus, Alesta, and Tatsuya glaring down at me. I felt a shiver run down my back. Did the Capitol statisticians consider all four of them my body count? How did that make me look? Was I really a murderer after all? If I did go home to Three, would my own family be afraid of me?

Even though I did my best to comfort Tatsuya as he died, it was his image that sent me enough guilt to make me want to regurgitate my 'feast.' If I had left him before the battle began, he wouldn't have taken a dagger to the belly for me, and perhaps he would still be alive. I woud've most definitely drowned when the tunnels were flooded out (no doubt that was Gamemaker-instigated to try and get the killing above ground where the cameras could pick it up). It was my life or his.

And I chose mine. Why was such a terrible, selfish decision left up to me?

As soon as the Fallen Tribute report finished, I went back to rocking myself back and forth and humming until I fell unconscious.

_Hickory Dickory Dock  
>Little Wiress looked at the clock<br>Clock struck five  
>Why is she still alive?<br>Hickory Dickory Dock!_

* * *

><p>In my dream that evening, I was sitting and reading in my room back home. I could hear a storm raging outside my window, but I was so at peace that I didn't care. I was reading an old map book from the days of the Millennial Americana Era, studying Seattle, Washington. I pondered the fun I would've had exploring the fish markets, the Asian culture museums, everything!<p>

I looked out my little window, only to find that I wasn't in my tenement. My room was looking out over Seattle itself from an extremely high point...I was on top of the Seattle Space Needle, the most iconic building in the city. It was a heavenly sight in spite of the winds.

"Wiress, get going."

I turned my head and faced Tatsuya, dressed in red, holding the dagger that Sheen had stabbed him with. "Go! Wiress! You need to go!" He shouted again before hurling the dagger at my face.

I jumped awake as an all-too-real pain pierced my cheek. It wasn't residue from the odd dream, but a real twinge...a burning sensation. I ran my finger over the spot and felt a sensitive, raised bump forming under my eye.

Suddenly, another sensation, this time on the skin of my exposed shin...then another, and another...

I was able to put two and two together quickly. The rain was still heavy, but the droplets that were able to make their way under the archway of my stoop and hit me were what was causing the burns...acid rain.

I sprung to my feet and began to twist frantically at the doorknob behind me. It was dead bolted. It wouldn't budge. I had no choice but to go out into the acid rain to find more substantial shelter.

Acting as quickly as I could, I took off my parka and wrapped it around my face. I tucked my pant legs into my boots, pulled my long sleeves over my hands, and packed my knapsack. I had to be quick and precise about where I wanted to go.

I took a deep breath and ran out into the acid rain. The drops burned holes through my shirt, but my thick parka was proving to be quite sufficient in protecting me. I quickly looked around and caught sight of an incredibly tall, odd-shaped structure about four blocks away...the Seattle Space Needle. It was still standing in spite of the ruins everywhere else, though it was leaning over at a rather precarious angle, and closer to the ground than it had to have been in the past.

Space NEEDLE! A prize in a haystack! Beetee wanted me to head towards the Space Needle. And so I did.

The acidic water was growing more and more corrosive as I moved. My parka was beginning to melt away, and I was getting more and more burns and blisters. By the time I arrived at the square where the Needle stood (for lack of a better term), I was in a moderate amount of pain and desperate for any kind of shelter.

Not many buildings were standing in this vicinity...so much for a 'haven.' The only building that held some promise was a small brick one nearby. I headed for it and decide to try climbing in a window instead of wasting precious time looking for a door. At the first window I could find, I desperately began kicking at the glass with the heel of my boot until it gave way. I didn't care about cuts. I just wanted to get the hell inside before the acid rain melted the flesh off of my bones.

My desperate manner hindered my physical abilities, and it took me a few tries to leap through.

I was finally able to shimmy through the window and inside. Immediately, I looked at the welts and blisters all over my exposed skin. The acid rain had left some nasty scars, and they burned terribly. I looked back outside. Little pools of acid were starting to eat away at the paint on benches and buildings. The rain seemed to be increasing in acidity with time. If I had been out much longer, the droplets would probably have been able to sear holes right through my flesh.

My wounds, for the moment, though painful enough, weren't life-threatening. I decided to let the matter go. Soon I would likely have worse things to worry about.

Looking around my new sanctuary, I momentarily forgot where I was and how much danger I was in by being there.

The place Beetee had 'found' for me was beyond what I could have imagined would still be in this terrible place. Shelves, despite being broken, scattered, and tipped over, were still filled with antiquated books, periodicals beginning to crumble, and water-stained journals. Books lied all over the floor. Books were piled higher than my head. Books lined the walls! These books hadn't been removed by Gamemakers as the area was made ready to become an Arena.

Beetee had sent me on a treasure hunt. Somehow, he knew this would mean more to me than a weapon or some other useful tool.

If I had tears left to shed, I would have shed them in gratitude. It was a place to hide...a place where I could drown myself in words and pictures. If my calculations were accurate, I was one of five or six remaining now. I still had to outlive two Careers and two or three other players who may or may not have the ability to murder me. If I had to die soon, I could die in relative comfort.

I set up camp in a corner of the main room, behind a few broken shelves. The first thing I did was take out my jar of lamp oil and set it in a safe spot...I could read at night and not have to worry about being discovered in here. Then, I spent the next few hours simply browsing the books. Most had yellowed pages and tiny print. Severeal looked utterly fascinating. Towards evening, I retreated to my little corner with three large books, one a volume of ancient folk tales, one a biography of some famous Queen from Old Europe, and the third a novel about a young man with magic ability who needed to defeat the evil man who killed his parents.

At this point in Beetee's year, he was setting up the trap that would win the Games for him. I was hiding out and reading, hoping the pain in my shoulder would disappear soon, and not get infected. After the battle down in the subway tunnel, I never wanted to be responsible for taking another life again...ever.

I opened the book with folk tales and read some of the romantic stories, absorbing each one like a sponge. Perhaps it was some of the residue from having my first kiss (despite the circumstances), but I couldn't help but imagine for the first time in my life about my future...particularly my romantic future.

In District Three, people didn't particularly marry young...and Three had one of the lowest marriage rates in Panem. Mainly because our people prefer career-oriented paths, and when the time came to have children, everything had already been planned out. Almost never did one hear about unexpected pregnancies in Three, or pregnancies in anyone under thirty years of age. It was never practical. Should people (like my parents) decide they want to marry, they applied for a contract. Sometimes a ceremony would follow the contract signing, but that was only if there was enough money to spare for it. The newlyweds usually celebrated with small, family get-togethers, followed by a week off of work to settle in with one another. Again, very practical.

Supposedly, though, Daddy was a romantic. When he married my mother, he wanted something more. So he brought her to the rooftop of his apartment, where they said their vows out loud before all of Three at sunrise.

I wanted to marry someone. I didn't want to be alone for the rest of my life. I wanted children, particularly girls. I wanted to watch them grow with my husband at my side. For as much as I loved being alone, a strong part of me envied the idea of always having a lover to embrace me, support me in times of sorrow, and to stick around with me forever in spite of my quirks and shortcomings. However, my realistic side knew I would be too shy to ever develop a relationship with a man that intimately.

But even if I won the Games, who in their right mind would marry me? Very few Victors married as adults. The few that did usually bound themselves to the people they'd been dating before they were Reaped. Most Victors were eaten up by the Capitol lifestyle, which was less about marriage and commitment, and more about pleasure and freedom. Whether it was willingly or by force I wasn't sure. Beetee never took to the Capitol culture. Surely he would be okay with terminal bachelorhood.

But then, as I drifted further and further off into my own thoughts, it occurred to me that Beetee would make a fantastic husband, as Intel had remarked the night before the Games began. Not just because he cold keep a commitment, but because he was a gentle man with the right priorities. He was an easy man to trust (not that I'd had a choice). And something about the way he kissed my cheek before he delivered me to the hovercraft that last morning...it sent a pleasurable tingle to my chest. I'd not remarked it then because of the surrounding circumstances and impending doom. If Beetee ever did take a wife, she would be the luckiest woman in Panem.

My mind rearranged these ideas into a fantasy. I saw myself and Beetee standing over a crib, a small baby dressed in pink fleece slumbering peacefully inside. As we watched the baby sleep away the night, Beetee took my hand gently, running his thumb over my knuckles. He smiled at me with contentment and love, and I felt warm. He took me in his embrace and softly kissed me, whispering "Bedtime, Wire."

It was a picture of domestic bliss, tranquility, and consistency. Things a Victor never experiences. If I won the Games, I knew what would await me. A world of painful public appearances, disturbing sensory floods, and a never ending parade of death as I became a Mentor.

Then, tonight I will live as I wish, I thought. Panem wouldn't run my life tonight.

Just as I sighed and began to drift away, I heard a crash and the sound of someone struggling to climb in the window.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Beetee's Journal<strong>_

_**Day 6, 44th Games**_

_Sometimes, you just get the feeling when the 'Endgame' approaches. When the constant sense of dread becomes so thick it obstructs your breathing. _

_Wiress is approaching the Endgame stage. It is the one time I will not be able to help her. Once it gets down to three or four living Tributes, sponsor gifts are forbidden. She is up against two strong Career women. _


End file.
